Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Chloraseptic, artist - Eminem. Album song Revival, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 14.12.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Interscope Records Release;, Shady Records
Song language: English
Chloraseptic |
To the English language |
With this ink, you haters get rode on like a piece of paper |
This rap shit got me travelin' place to place |
You barely leave your house |
'Cause you’re always stuck at your pad, it’s stationary |
Yeah, that’s why when I brainstorm, gotta write it out |
Simon Cowell of rhymin' foul, that’s why you sound so shook |
Wire bound notebook got tied around your throat |
Hook it inside your mouth, go—hruh |
That’s what it’s like when the mic is out |
'Cause I’m tearin' at your flesh with it |
'Til your larynx and neck are split |
With these lyrics, weapons, expert with |
Like hair extensions, extra clips |
And you’re scared to effin' death of it |
Bitch, you’re starin' at a legend that |
In a pair of Skechers, sweatshirt ripped |
And hoodie black, should be strapped |
To a chair or stretcher, electric, swear on every record, bitch |
Finger so high in the air, I’ll bet your senses flip |
Like a barometric pressure switch |
Carin' less who I offend with this |
I’m at your neck like Pez dispense |
Go 'head, spit your flow, bitch! |
I’m at your throat like Chloraseptic, 'septic |
And you got strep, I’m too complex with it, 'plex with it |
This shit I wrote is on some next shit, next shit |
I’m at your throat, I’m feelin' reckless, reckless, yeah |
And I’ll take a hundred of you, hundred of you |
All at once like I had nothin' to lose, what can I do? |
My appetite for destruction is loose, destruction is loose |
And all it wants is to have somethin' to chew |
Somethin' to chew, somethin' to chew |
Yeah, uh (Haha), and still conjoined at |
The hip with hop, still on point and poignant |
Skilled as Floyd is |
In this field, and still no filter, boy |
I’ll put you in your place (Yeah) like a realtor, boy |
You still ain’t in the buildin', boy |
I will destroy shit, even as I build it |
Get the drill bit, pen is filled with poison |
Which is the source, easy to still pinpoint it |
(Like what?) Like a real thin joint it |
(What?) Comes on Quilted Northern |
(And what?) In a built-in toilet |
(Yeah) Bitch, I told you I’m a dog (Woof) |
I wouldn’t heal with ointment |
Way I’m kickin' these fairies' tails |
Should write a children’s storybook (Yeah, yeah, yeah) |
Million voices in my head |
But still get a little bit of thrill and some real enjoyment |
(Off what?) Off the feel of going in |
(Like?) Like your bitch when she gives me brain |
Like she thinks I’m dumb |
Grabs the crown of my dick and blows me to kingdom come |
'Til I feel anointed |
She makes iller noises |
When she’s with me, must be from the Windy City, uh |
Pretty apparent, she’s a MILF when blowin' me |
'Cause I conned her into |
Rippin' the condom in two (Woo!) |
Dick is a bargainin' tool |
Now I’m gettin' blew like Klonopins, Rude Jude |
I go there, you wouldn’t |
Well, I still have a few views in common with you |
Just not YouTube, 'cause… |
I’m at your throat like Chloraseptic, 'septic |
And you got strep, I’m too complex with it, 'plex with it |
This shit I wrote is on some next shit, next shit |
I’m at your throat, I’m feelin' reckless, reckless, yeah |
You’re a has-been |
That has been the case since back when |
You last went and threw your hat in the race |
You’ve been trash (Bitch!) |
Stick your raps in the trash bin |
Or end up in my next rhyme |
You’re a fuckboy, so next time |
It’s gonna be heads flyin' like Dez Bryant |
With a TEC-9 against Rex Ryan (Yeah!) |
Now watch me set it like correct time |
All you get is sloppy seconds like a Timex, I |
Clock rejects into the next life |
Talking reckless, but it’s just my |
Strongest suit, but you can get my Colombian necktie |
Prostitute, just climb in the Humvee and let’s ride |
Why you hitching at night? |
I put an end to your life, sex crime |
Kidding aside, insidious vibe |
Girl, you know you got the prettiest eyes |
But all you’re getting is bribed |
Any old lie to try to get you inside |
Then we gon' end up spending the night |
And I’m skinning your hide like an Indian tribe |
What kind of nut drives a Budweiser truck |
Finds a slut, tries to surprise her, cuffs, ties her up |
Binds up, cuts, slices her twice? |
But the muff diver must just like it rough |
Fuck right in her vagina, blood |
Flies up on the visor, like a geyser, uh |
(Music, please!) Enthusiast of the roofie |
Goal is to get a floozy inside the Jacuzzi |
And have a loosey-goosey as Cool C is with an Uzi |
But I am to rap what blue jeans mean to Bruce Springsteen |
Glued we be, I’m truTV, you’re too PG |
I’m Schoolly D, you’re Spoonie Gee! |
No diss there, just notice there |
Are no similarities that we share |
Besides the fact we breathe air |
Happily married to rap and I’m glad that we buried |
The hatchet and patched it up |
Now I’m back to ratchet up my attack |
And I’m at your mothafuckin' throat like— |
—throat like Chloraseptic, 'septic |
And you got strep, I’m too complex with it, 'plex with it |
This shit I wrote is on some next shit, next shit |
I’m at your throat, I’m feelin' reckless, reckless, yeah |
And I’ll take a hundred of you, hundred of you |
All at once like I had nothin' to lose, what can I do? |
My appetite for destruction is loose, destruction is loose |
And all it wants is to have somethin' to chew |
Somethin' to chew, somethin' to chew |