Lyrics Writer's Block - Royce 5'9, Eminem

Writer's Block

Yeah!
I don’t know what else to say
I can’t, I can’t think of nothin'
I’m stumped, here we go!
On your feet!
Stand up!
Everybody hands up!
Uh, man, I don’t know man
Every time I go to think of something played out to say
You already said it
I ain’t callin' names 'cause all of y’all the same
Plus I’m the king, all my past pain all done changed up
All these plains, all these lames, since the Slaughter’s came up
'Cause they know their hands tied, feet ball and chained up
Niggas be quick to call me the new 50 Cent
Because of my relationship with Marshall
Used to make me a little partial, but here’s the brain fuck
We the same, 'cause
I’m probably 'bout to fall out with a young buck
While I attempt to fuck the fuckin' game up
Bitch, splat!
Only thing I fear in here is chit-chat
You are hearin' bars like your ear against a Kit Kat
Shady guys like the Navy, try us, wavey bye-bye
Maybe my Glock can turn your top to Baby’s Maybach
My shit is parvo, literally sick
Trust me, nigga, it’s ugly to kill;
the thing is, the bigger I get
The more disgustin' and fuckin' disfigured it gets
Niggas expect me to go pop, oh, stop
Y’all about the Champagne, I’m about the toast, I
Only fuck with mailmen with heroin from Boca
Niggas that’ll smoke you while you starin' in your postbox
Only incense he enlightens when he’s thinkin'
While that sinks in, I got a Brinks ink pen
I’m back!
Motherfucker, notice the flyness on the cover
Of the XXL, I’m back from the dead
Like Tobey Maguire from the Brothers
How y’all realer?
If I said it, I did it
If I didn’t, I seen it first-hand like a card dealer
Give up the throne: your lease up;
I am the Mona Lisa
That decoded Da Vinci Code, you throwin' your piece up
Is a waste of fake like a phony B-cup
Makin' the mistake was like my only teacher
Wait 'til they get a load of me, 'cause—
I’ve got Guccis on my feet, diamonds on my neck
Diamonds on my wrist, bitches on my dick
But y’all already said that
Choppers in the trunk, models in the front
Bottles in the club, but I don’t give a fuck
But y’all already said that
'Cause sometimes I feel like it’s so hard for me
To come up with shit to say, ayy
I’m at a loss for words, 'cause y’all already said it all
I think I’m runnin' outta clichés
I’m gettin' writers block, psyche!
When I stand up in this booth, niggas notice it
Sittin' on the same boat that Noah built
Floatin' on the same water Moses split
Poetry in motion, but we sittin' on your grave site: overkill
Aren’t you tired?
Why are you so loud?
Quiet
Real dudes move in silence, like a mute drivin' a new hybrid
You dudes is too excited
You a dude that’d try to sue a dude that’s suicidal
You will just be another victim
I’m like a nickel of weed rolled in a doobie: I’m a little twisted
I roll like the end credits in movies, y’all just got scripted
Got y’all niggas' bitches bobbin' to this one when she wit' ya
When she with me, she bobbin', not vibin'
Tryna put her mind into the inside of my zipper
I’m a serpent with a purpose
Havin' problems?
Not a problem
I’ve encountered, I have found elephants, lions, clowns
Will jump through hoops like they workin' for the circus
If the fire 'round the circle’s right in front of them, fire rounds
Pun intended, gun extended, what are you marks askin'?
Car’s Aston, started as a hard-top and I saw past it
Since I decided to start class, this all black, all glass
Panoramic roof been gettin' marked absent
I authorize my own all-access
Your bitch a whore, I’m a catch, she ball-catchin'
Her jaw’s been broadcasted
All across the globe from the store to Japan
Her pussy need to be blocked and reported as spam
Interscope, I been this dope
Now sell it, my voicemail is full
Got bitches screamin' inside of envelopes
And they tryna mail ‘em to me
Tryna reach my phone, I don’t know which one is harder:
Tryin' not to take your bitch or tryna get rid of my own
I’ve got Guccis on my feet, diamonds on my neck
Diamonds on my wrist, bitches on my dick
But y’all already said that
Choppers in the trunk, models in the front
Bottles in the club, but I don’t give a fuck
But y’all already said that
'Cause sometimes I feel like it’s so hard for me
To come up with shit to say, ayy
I’m at a loss for words, 'cause y’all already said it all
I think I’m runnin' outta clichés
I’m gettin' writers block, psyche!
Man, get the bozac!
We need to start bringin' that shit back (Mad flava!)
Man, fuck it, I’m 'bout to catch some wreck
(We in effect, money!)
Mad props to Royce for keepin' it real
On the strength, no diggity
I’m 'bout to go pull some hoes, get my mack on
Haters get the gas face!