Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Right For Me, artist - Eminem.
Date of issue: 23.11.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Right For Me |
I feel phenomenal as usual |
Pharmaceuticals, glue stick to crucify me at Bonnaroo |
But I don’t know if I’m in Tennessee, Chicago, or Houston |
In the corner trying to seek solitude |
Shallow but such a hollow dude |
I won’t even swallow solid food |
Alcoholic too, plus I’m on lean like the Tower of Pisa |
Top it off I’m on mushrooms so fuck all of you |
Roses to violet mollies are blue |
Lost in a ball of confusion |
Its all an illusion |
It’s probably the shrooms I’m on |
Cause I think I started hallucinating |
Cause I just thought I just heard Jay Electronica and Odd Future’s new shit |
And all I can do is follow the music |
And end up with Paula Abdul at Lollapalooza |
Fillin' water balloons with nail polish remover |
Just a problem in wallowing fumes |
I feel uptight I gotta get looser |
After I finish polishing off this bottle of booze I got a solution |
Concentrated like orange juice so I’m not as diluted |
Cause all this delusion got me seein' shit |
Excusez-moi but that coochie that passed |
You see her ass? |
Wouldn’t make her my main squeeze |
But juicier ass, it belongs in a juicer |
It’s mouth waterin' too so I walked up to it like I’m Marshall |
Wanna try to meet my standards? |
I’ll Introduce ya |
Oh I’m a misogynist too but I’m not a masseuse |
But my attitude is rubbin' off on the youth |
A chronic abuser, not only user of marijuana |
I mean verbal assault that I use to smoke all of you losers |
Got a bazooka, a shotgun, a ruger, a Glock, and a nuke |
And a Rottweiler too, I’m not in the mood so |
When I say I’m bringing the TEC out |
I’m not coming to repair your fuckin' electronic computers |
God, I’m gonna puke |
I’m so gone off the hookah |
I think I swallowed a loofah |
I’m tore up, demolished, a fuckin' stone like Oliver |
Like I looked Medusa in the eyeball to seduce her |
The thoughts I produce are loony tunes |
The box of usable latex gloves and the socks and the shoes |
To replace next up Veronica’s boobs |
And a paychecks that were stuffed in a glove box |
In a blue Honda with used condoms were clues |
The girl was just not the one suitable for him |
Right For Me will change me rearrange my head to be |
Just right for you and me don’t laugh, please listen |
Don’t laugh, please listen |
Thought I could endure the pressure |
Collapse and crumble perhaps |
Relapsing under that |
Well that’s a bunch of crap |
In the clutch, I’m the Captain Crunch of rap |
And I’m sick of acting humble thats enough of that |
Fuck that shit, cut the sack |
Like its a natural reaction |
That’s why I’m actually trapped in this shoving match |
Cause push keeps coming to that |
I can keep getting my ass kicked, keep it coming back |
Like a sarcastic crumpled sack of shit so mad |
Disgruntled had some struggles yeah |
But that passionate hunger’s back |
The fantastic juggling act |
And the way I flip my tongue on the track |
It’s like verbal acrobatics |
But in fact |
Last time I tried to pull off a dramatic stunt as drastic |
I fuckin' crashed my hovercraft |
After I strapped the duffel bag to my back |
And stuck the massive punchin' bag in it |
An elastic bungee strap, proper plaster, a thumb tack |
And a piece of plastic bubble wrap |
Went spastic and fuckin' snapped |
Jumped and splashed in a puddle of battery acid |
Stumbled back, recovered, back flipped |
And landed on a gymnastic tumble mat |
And for my last trick, lunge on back lash |
On a NASA shuttle flap, fuckin' snapped the rudder in half |
Chuckled and laughed, buttaled my last rebuttal |
And just asked him to come crash |
And I go grab my go-go-gadget inflatable gigantic humongous mattress |
And ceramic construction hat |
Rubbed my magic mushroom tat |
Fell off then splat, get up from that |
Face taped to a waste paper basket |
Throw up then gas, lungs collapse |
And that’s more likely than finding someone that’s |
Couple of shots of Jäger |
Public intoxication, dis-fuckin'-combobulation |
Flooded with thoughts of anger |
While I was away I know probably some of you got to thinkin' |
«You're top ten ain’t cha?"stop cause you fuckers are talkin' crazy |
And stop interrupting you’re not even up in the conversation |
Whether you’re punchin' a clock or famous |
Underground, pop, or nameless, whatever your job is |
I came to fuck with your occupation |
You’re thinkin' just cause you came in with scrubs |
And you brought the scalpel and sponge |
The oxygen tank and the suction and shot the brain surgeon |
Stuck in the operating room |
Once you done, swapped your name with him |
Smuggled in Ronald Reagan |
If you duck him up Donald Fagen |
While juggling waffles baking |
Fuckin' McDonalds egg and cheese sausage bagel finagle |
They flung it across the table |
Then bump it and knock it shake it |
Jumped and got in the way then disrupted my concentration |
I said fuck it and lost my patience |
Since they all woke up from sedation |
Ain’t none of you Doctor Dre |
So then what does it got you thinkin' |
That you can fuck with this operation |
Aftermath, still running hip-hop amazing |
I’m still pluggin' along |
No need for an assumption |
Here’s confirmation |
I’m up for the long duration |
I’m just looking for something to walk away with |
Some pocket change and a little integrity |
Though I’ll probably be jumpin' across the stage |
Till I’m fuckin' Madonna’s age and |
Stuck in an awkward place in my life |
But I shit you not like I’m fucked up with constipation |
That day will come before I stumble upon some ladies |