E/Eminem/Westwood Freestyle 2010 (Feat. Mr. Porter & Royce Da 5'9")
[Verse 1: Mr. Porter]
Welcome to the ill world of Mr. P-O Ay, keep the talk, B; I'm tryna see dough If it ain't about bread, what we gon' speak fo? If it ain't no lead, then it ain't no beef, bro You better get a leash cause your freak ho Specialize in wood like she Home Depot I'm like Chico DeBarge, we stars Roscoe P. Coltrane in these bars, man Amtrak, I'll break her damn back, man It's Ralph Lauren, this ain't no damn Chaps It's all polo; I'm so pro, though You bird-crazy: El Pollo Loco Talking 'bout cheese and this ain't no photo Asking 'bout rings like the ho know Frodo You better get out of my house and shit I just threw up in my mouth a bit, I'm sick
[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9"]
Niggas be lying, talking 'bout that, bust a heater Once I see him, maybe more like Justin Bieber Leaving my rivals underground like Skyzoo's, how I do I have her laying in the street and bleeding Butt naked with a bullet in his muthafuckin' head like Erykah Badu I find irony in being in a place Where I'm wearing Gucci, mane, getting white boy wasted I tell a nigga, "Break bread or take lead" I'm tryna get rid of this weight like K-Fed Me and Denaun got a gangsta bond We like that once-in-a-lifetime thang to you that ain't the prom The next MC that rhyme "official" with "ref with a whistle" That ain't Young Money, I'mma definitely diss you If you rhyming "packing a Mac" with "back of the Ac" Or perhaps you can't match my spectacular vernacular You still rhyming "bottles" with "models", "college" for "knowledge"? Using the word "swagger"? You're probably garbage You thugs funny, comparing 5'9" to anybody? You comparing Superman to Bugs Bunny
[Verse 3: Eminem]
I'm like a white Michael Vick, psycho enough to stick Michael J. Fox in a microwave with a Rott I might make a little Alizé with a side of NyQuil And ride a motorcycle bike right through the side of my high school Satan's disciple with a sniper rifle and a knife and a white diaper Liable to shit on you while I snipe you So dope he gets off opiates, what an appropriate Way to start off his day; he may just smart off to Dre He may be hard to contain cause his rage is so hard to gauge See, Hannibal ate his face and met Jason gnawed off his leg Amazing hard-on for razors and blades and anything sharp Even poisonous darts; it all plays a major part of his game Holy water won't ward him off, crucifixes won't do the trick He's so sick, it's ridiculous; sawed the crazy part off his brain He's still insane, why's there bloodstains on his carpet, mane There's some crazy shit going on in Shady's apartment again
[Verse 4: Mr. Porter]
Okay, it's back to the blocks, slinging yay like the old days Superman on the beat, I carry my whole state You wooden legs to a house: you can't hold weight Oh shit, it's O'Shea Jackson! Okay A little bit of this twisted out with Obama in it Mr. Porter back with anthrax like Osama sent him Bitch, I'm all that; I drive the girls crazy They gotta look at Rorschachs to get they thoughts back I ain't a small fry, small ticker, small tack I make 'em all cry with big dick and raw sack The potblood of science to return a raw rap I'm the best, mane: Eli Porter stance
[Verse 5: Royce da 5'9"]
Y'all bitches should call Nickle the Don Bishop A poet, a mixer of Don Goines and John Grisham Flow'll have ya rewinding through it five times That landmine rhyme written with porcupine line Step up in here with the Slaughterhouse C.O.B. Gang will approach you and bend ya gun barrel to a Horseshoe Only fuck wit monsters, we the truth, monsters will pop up on ya Like ya said "Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice" I can't even see the booth, I could fit Stevie's shoe I'm sick, I got the Desert Eagle flu I'm rich, lil' nigga, we don't need a cent, we Teflon The doctor take blood, the needle bent, ask mom Outta my mind if you can imagine Using Magic's johnson without a condom, I'm bonkers! Got the streets going, "Dude, it's tremendous" If I come for ya blood, I ain't gon' be using syringes
[Verse 6: Eminem]
Newsflash, I'm still trashed, them pills shoulda killed my ass But they didn't, they just made me stronger It's like they rebuilt my ass, like the Six Million Dollar Man after the crash It's Aftermath, bitch! And my milk glass is still half-empty Yeah, tempt me! Hell isn't enough They need to invent somewhere new to send me As sick as I'm getting, they'll stick me in a conventional oven With a rotisserie setting and won't even notice me sweating Shit, I done made a verse, said some foul shit Tryna go back fix it, fucked around and just made it worse! Yeah, I'm back, looking no worse for wear, got these haters Mad enough to rip off their hair and start punching the air! Panties so in a bunch that they can't function It's Shady and Royce, fuck yeah! What a dysfunctional pair! So stop acting like a punk, get a pair Take a pill and fall the fuck out, spill ya lunch in the chair
[Verse 7: Mr. Porter]
Look, I'm sick, somebody better get the Dimetapp Who I gotta shoot just to prove that I can rap? People ask where my shine is at I say check the liner notes, I done done all kinda crap I am so much of a star, bitch That I can fart and piss on the red carpet Look, my bank account's retarded My debit card's got a helmet and a harness, hey Meet demands but they all are harmless At shows, my riders always the largest I need four pounds of fried poultry carcass And red M&Ms chartered from Charlotte Look, and if you try to act dumb and start shit I just yell at 'em like, "I'm the artist!" In fact that you know the deal If you wanna play sick, we can all get ill Look: measles, mumps, I made you bitches I don't need you chumps, y'all got cheese And I need my chunks! Hurry up So I can go to burn rubber and get some more dunks
[Verse 8: Royce da 5'9"]
Now if your attitude determines your latitude This house that we call hip hop? I'm in the attic, fool A mic and two turntables, fit for the unstable Converted to a padded room, keep a street sweeper in fact I call the mag a broom, you seeing beef, seeing things You musta had yourself a bag of shrooms, I make a call Make 'em fake a fall, my clique is too sick, say goodbye In the streets where the stakes is high like Ruth's Chris I'm from the city of true shit Where the mayor went to jail for being a player right after Proof split Levels the head of competitors Royce that I'm drinking everyday 'til Hex Murda get his regular voice back Ras, I got ya, look scared at ya, blast from ya From a block away; ask Tricky, I'm that niggie I'm mo hooder than black dickies I rap like committing suicide in the booth taking the track with me Patrón's in my chromosomes in order to leave it alone You have to ween me off that Lorena Bobbitt chopper'd Knock a weenie off, put your body between chalk I'm squeezing the nine iron like I'm swinging golf I'm with the best rapper alive, put something on it Yo sound's plain as a cheeseburger with nothing on it
[Verse 9: Eminem]
I'll do a hundred-yard dash just to slash Kim Kardash in the ass With a shard of glass from Nick Hogan's car crash You may look like the passenger for that, don't be a smart ass Yeah, laugh while sit there thinking that the hard part passed You ain't seen pain 'til Leatherface flips, mane I'll cut ya fuckin' balls off, homie, my saw's off the chain I chopped the bitch in half with it, sawed off her legs And the top half of the torso fuckin' crawled off and sang I ain't seen shit like that since I went to Mike Jack's And took the Elephant Man's skull, fucked it, and put it right back Handed my dick to Bubbles while he sucked it and licked my nutsack Gave him a reacharound while I fucked him right in his buttcrack Nah, I ain't taking it back, faggot, fuck that! I give a fuck about nothing so here's where you fucked up at Don't go touching that can, man, you don't wanna open up that! Wait a min... ah, shit... Alchemist, cut that!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.