What's your name
Marshall
Who's your daddy
I don't have one
My mother reproduced
like a komodo dragon
And had me on the
back of a motorcycle
Then crashed in the side of
loco-motive with rap ,I'm loco
It's like handing
a psycho a loaded handgun
Michelangelo with
a paint gun in a tantrum
'bout to explode
all over the canvas
Back with the Yoda
of rap in a spasm
Your music usually has them
But waned for the game
your enthusiasm it hasn't
Follow you must
Rick Rubin my little Padawan
A Jedi in training
colossal brain and
thoughts are entertaining
But docile and
impossible to explain and
I'm also vain and
Probably find a way to complain
about a Picasso painting
Puke Skywalker
but sound like Chewbacca when I talk
Full of such blind rage
I need a seeing eye dog
Can't even find the page
I was writing this rhyme on
Oh, it's on a rampage
couldn't see what
I wrote I write small
It says ever
since I drove a 79 Lincoln
with white walls
Had a fire in my heart
and a dire desire to aspire
to die hard
So as long as
I'm on the clock punching
this time card
Hip hop ain't dying
on my watch
But sometimes
when I'm sleeping
she comes to me
in my dreams
Is she taken Is she mine
Don't got, I don't care
don't have two shits to give
Let me take you
by the hand to promise land
And threaten everyone
Cause there's no rhyme
or no reason for nothing
What's your name
Marshall
Who's your daddy
I don't know him but I wonder
Is he rich like me
Ha ha
Has he taken any time
to show you what you need to live
NO If he had
he wouldn't have ended up
in these rhymes on my pad
I wouldn't be so mad
my attitude wouldn't be so bad
yeah dad
I'm the epitome
and the prime example of
what happens
When the power of the rhyme
falls into the wrong hands and
Makes you want to
get up and start dancing
Even if it is Charles Manson
who just happens to be rapping
Blue lights flashing
laughing all the way to the bank
Lamping in my K-Mart mansion
I'm in the style department
With a pile in my cart
ripping the aisle apart
With great power comes
absolutely no responsibility
for content
Completely, despondent,
and condescending
The king of nonsense
and controversy is on a
Beat killing spree, your honor,
I must plead guilty
cause I sparked a revolution
Rebel without a cause
who caused the evolution of rap
To take it to the next level, boost it
But several rebuked it,
and whoever produced it
Hip hop is the devil's music
Is that me? It belongs to me?
'Cause I just happen to be,
a white honky devil with two horns
That don't honk but every time
I speak you, hear a beep?
But lyrically I never hear a peep,
not even a whisper
Rappers better stay clear of me,
bitch 'Cause it's the
It's the time of the season,
when hate runs high
And this time
give it to you easy
When I take back what's mine,
with pleasured hands
And torture everyone,
that is my plan,
my job here isn't done
'Cause there's no rhyme
or no reason for nothing
Whats your name?
Shady
Who's your daddy?
I don't give a fuck, but I wonder
Is he rich like me?
Doubt it, ha
Has he taken, any time,
to show you what you need to live
So yeah dad let's walk
Let's have us a father and son talk
But I bet we probably
wouldn't get one block
Without me knocking
your block off
This is all your fault
Maybe that's why
I'm so bananas
I appeal to all those walks
Of like whoever had strife
Maybe that's what dad
and son talks are like
'Cause I related to the struggles
of Young America
When their fucking parents
were unaware of their troubles
Now they're ripping out their
fucking hair again
It's hysterical,
I chuckle
'Cause everybody bloodies
their bare knuckles
Yeah, uh oh,
better beware knuckleheads
The sond of my
hustle says "Don't knock"
The door's broken, it won't lock
It might just fly open,
get cold-cocked
You critics come pay to me a visit
Misery loves company,
please stay a minute
Kryptonite to a hypocrite
Zip your lip if you dish it
but can't take it
Too busy getting stoned
in your glass house to kick rocks,
then you wonder why I lash out
Mister Mathers
as advertised on the flyers
So spread the word 'cause
I'm promoting my passion
'til I'm passed out
A completely brain dead Rainman
going the Bankhead
in a restraint chair
So bitch, if you shoot me
a look it better be a blank stare
Or get shanked in the pancreas,
I'm angrier than
All 8 of the reindeer
put together with Chief Keef
'Cause I hate every
fucking thing, yeah
Even this rhyme bitch,
and quit tryna look for
a fucking reason
for it that ain't there
I still am a criminal
Ten year old degenerate
grabbing on my genitals
The last Mathers LP
that went diamond
This time I'm predicting
this one will go emerald
When will the madness end,
how can it when
There's no method
to the pad and pen
The only message
that I have to sing is
"Dad, I'm back at it again."