| My attitude is worse than N.W.A's was
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| I’ll battle you over stupid shit
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| And diss people who ain’t have shit to do with it
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| Like Cool J does (My tattoo)
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| You see me standin' outside of your buildin'
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| Screamin', «Puffy is good, but Slim Shady is for the children»
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| I look at my life in a new light
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| Fuck it, give me two mics
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| I write songs for me, fuck what you like
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| You probably hear me rap half-hearted
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| 'Cause I don’t like rap anyway
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| I’m just tryna get my porno career started (Oh, hell yeah)
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| Every place and event, been there, done that
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| Shit, Dre stuck me in a suitcase when he went
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| Want a deal? |
| Study these five chapters
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| Lesson 1, throw demos as hard as you can at signed rappers
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| Lesson 2, face 'em and diss 'em (What up, dawg?)
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| Don’t give 'em a demo, kidnap 'em
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| (Come on, you’re comin' with me, motherfucker, check this out)
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| And make 'em come to your basement and listen
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| Lesson 3, get a job at a label
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| Switch demos with Canibus and put yours on the owner’s table
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| (Here, listen)
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| Lesson 4, know you heard this before
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| «Hey, let me get your number, I’ll call you tomorrow for sure»
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| Don’t act like a fan, you wanna get signed
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| Get the whitest A&R you can find
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| Pull him aside and rap as wack as you can (Hey dude, come here)
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| Lesson 5, get a hook-up at Jive
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| Dress up like I.C.P. |
| and have them come see you perform live
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| And that’s the key, but when you see me on the street
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| I ain’t givin' you shit, bitch, don’t even bother askin' me
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| Toilet water splashes me right in the ass when I’m spittin'
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| 'Cause I’m always shittin' when I’m rappin', like Master P (Ungh)
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| Got a blowjob from Paula Jones and stuffed it so far in her mouth
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| My balls broke both of her collarbones
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| Told Mya this shit was all about me-ah
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| Gave Alyssa Milano syphilis, mono and gonorrhea
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| And all three of my main girls said, «See ya»
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| 'Cause Brandy and Monica walked in
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| And caught me fuckin' Aaliyah
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| I splish-splash while I’m takin' a bath
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| Grab a handful of pills, break 'em in half, take 'em and laugh
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| White trash, fuckin' your wife in the ass
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| While you’re out siphonin' gas
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| For your lawn mower to cut the grass
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| So if I hurt your self-esteem and you get dissed too bad
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| (Yo, why you diss me?)
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| And when I rap about a buncha shit you wished you had
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| (A big dick)
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| I can’t listen to that song, that shit’s too sad
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| He’ll never make it, his wrist is slit too bad (Nurse, nurse)
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| What a wonderful day, I should go outside and play
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| Ain’t no need to sit inside the house and hibernate
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| Hi, Renée (Oh, hi)
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| I was just about to toss a live grenade
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| In your driveway and drive away (What?)
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| Are you afraid of a blade made of a razor with AIDS?
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| Blood drippin' from it
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| Rippin' your stomach like a paper mâché
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| You talk a lot of shit, but you was never ill, though
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| I’m sick enough to beat you to death with a feather pillow
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| Tipped over some cows, just for a joke and a laugh
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| Jumped up, choked a giraffe
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| Snapped his neck and broke it in half
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| Wagin' wars, went on stage
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| And sprayed Cage with Agent Orange
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| And wiped my ass with his page in Source (Here)
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| The demon is here, I’m steamin' this year
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| I rip ********* voice box out and scream in his ear
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| It’s not a gimmick, bitch, it’s an image, I live it
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| Give a fuck? |
| I don’t know what a fuck is to give it
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| «Yeah, I don’t think this guy is well»
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| I’m high as hell, I’ll beat you with a live cat
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| When I’m swingin' him by his tail
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| I’ll fuckin', I’ll fuckin', lay your nuts on the dresser
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| Just your nutsack by itself
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| And bang them shits with a spiked bat
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| Cut your neck off, then sew your head right back
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| And leave you like that
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| You just triggered a prick who just mixed liquor
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| Who’s itchin' to leave you disfigured
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| And stiffer than Christopher Reeves
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| I was dealing with strep throat
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| While your mother was breastfeeding
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| And gave her the flesh-eating disease
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| I’m iller than takin' a hammer and beating your knees
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| And walkin' through South Central L.A., bleeding in jeans
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| (Am I a Blood or a Crip?)
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| Wakin' up the next day in breathing machines
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| Flashin' back to bein' shot and repeating the scenes
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| On how you just got smoked, and if you do live
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| You’ll be too scared to tell it, like a Biggie and Pac joke
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| So if I hurt your self-esteem and you get dissed too bad
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| And when I rap about a buncha shit you wished you had
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| I can’t listen to that song, that shit’s too sad
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| He’ll never make it, his wrist is slit too bad
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| You know I just be sayin' that to get you mad
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| I know that makes you real mad, don’t it? |
| (Uh-huh)
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| That’s right, Slim Shady (Yup)
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| Sway and Tech, sprayin' wreck (Bitch)
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| And we don’t give a heck (Uh-uh)
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| Or a damn or a fuck or a shit
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| So suck my mothafuckin' dick
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| The Wake Up Show, let me tell you what it mean to me
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| It mean hard beats, hard rhymes, B-boys
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| Hip-hop, baby, all the way, forever |