LYRICS
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Yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah, yeah(What's your name?) Marshall(Who's your daddy?) I don't have oneMy mother reproduced like a komodo dragonAnd had me on the back of a motorcycleThen crashed in the side of loco-motive with rapI'm locoIt's like handing a psycho a loaded handgunMichelangelo with a paint gunIn a tantrumBout to explode all over the canvasBack with the Yoda of rap in a spasmYour music usually has themBut waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn'tFollow you must, Rick Rubin my little PadawanA Jedi in training, colossal brainAnd, thoughts are entertainin'But docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain andProbably find a way to complainAbout a Picasso paintingPuke Skywalker, but sound likeChewbacca when I talkFull of such blind rage I need a seein' eye dogCan't even find the pageI was writing this rhyme onOh it's on a rampage, couldn't seeWhat I wrote I write smallIt says ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with white wallsHad a fire in my heartAnd a dire desire to aspire, to Die HardSo as long as I'm on the clockPunching this time cardHip-hop ain't dying on my watchBut sometimes, when I'm sleepin'She comes to me in my dreamsIs she taken, is she mine?Don't got time, don't care, don't have two shits to giveLet me take you by the hand to, promise landAnd 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(Has he taken, any timeTo show you what you need to live?)No, if he had, he wouldn't have ended upIn these rhymes on my padI wouldn't be so mad, my attitude wouldn't be so badYeah DadI'm the epitome and the prime example of what happensWhen the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong handsAnd makes you want to get upAnd start dancin', even if it is Charles MansonWho just happens, to be rapping, blue lights flashingLaughing all the way to the bankLamping in my K-Mart mansionI'm in the style departmentWith a pile in my cart, ripping the aisle apart withGreat power comes absolutely no responsibility, for contentCompletely, despondent and condescendingThe king of nonsenseAnd controversy is on a, beat killing spreeYour honor, I must plead guilty'Cause I sparked a, revolution, rebel without a causeWho caused the evolution of rapTo take it to the next level, boost itBut several rebuked it, and whoever produced it(Hip-hop is the devil's music) Is that meIt belongs to me?Cause I just happen to beA White honky devil with two hornsThat don't honk but every time I speak you, hear a beepBut lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisperRappers better stay clear of me, bitch, cause it's theIt's the time of the season, when hate runs highAnd this time, give it to you easyWhen I take back what's mine with pleasured handsAnd torture everyone, that is my planMy job here isn't doneCause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing(What's 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 talkBut I bet we probably wouldn't get one blockWithout me knockin' your block offThis is all your faultMaybe that's why I'm so bananasI appeal to all those walks of lifeWhoever had strifeMaybe that's what dad and son talks are likeCause I, related to the struggles of young AmericaWhen their fucking parents were unaware of their troublesNow they're ripping out their fucking hair againIt's hystericalI chuckle, 'cause everybodyBloodies their bare knuckles, yeah uh-ohBetter beware knuckleheadsThe sign of my hustle says don't knockThe doors broken, it won't lockIt might just fly open, get cold cockedYou critics come to pay me a visitMisery loves company, please stay a minuteKryptonite to a hypocriteZip your lip if you dish it but can't take itToo busy getting stoned in your glass house to kick rocksThen you wonder why I lash outMister Mathers as advertised on the flyersSo spread the word'Cause I'm promoting my passion til I'm passed outCompletely brain dead RainmanGoing a bankhead in a restraint chairSo bitch, if you shoot me a look it better be a blank stareOr get shanked in the pancreasI'm angrier than all eight other reindeerPut together with Chief KeefCause I hate every fucking thing, yeahEven this rhyme, bitchAnd quit tryna look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't thereBut I still am a CRIMINALTen-year-old degenerate grabbing on my GENITALSThe last Mathers LP that went diamondThis time I'm predicting this one will go EMERALDWhen will the madness endHow can it when there's no method to the pad and penThe only message that I have to send isDad, I'm back at it again, yeah
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