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Almost Famous
I can almost taste itThis shit makes no sense to meWhat does it all mean?I can almost taste itI can almost see itThis shit makes no sense to meWhat does it all mean?I can almost taste itI can almost taste itCan't stop nowThis might be the last chance I get to be famous(I just wanna be famous)You dream of trading placesI have been changing facesYou cannot fill these shoesThere is too much to loseWake up behind these trenchesYou run around defenselessThere is too much to loseYou cannot fill these shoesI just wanna be famous, butBe careful what you wish forI stuck my dick in this game like a rapistThey call me Slim RoethlisbergerI go berserker than a fed-up post office workerI murk her with a MossbergI'm pissed off, get murderedLike someone took a ketchup squirterSquirted a frankfurterFor a gangster, you sure did shit your pantsWhen you saw the chainsaw get to wavingLike a terrible towelHow thangs turn around when his fangs come outGet your brains blown outThat's what I call blowin' your mindWhen I come back, like nut on your spineI'm a thumb tack that you slept on, sonNow here I come, screaming "Attack! "Like I just stepped on oneLow on the totem 'til he showed 'em defianceGiant scrotumHe don't owe them bitches shitHis britches, he outgrowed 'emHe's so out coldHe's knocked out at the South PoleAnd nobody fucks with himRigor mortis and post mortemHe's dyin' of boredomTake your best rhymes, record 'emThen try to thwart himHe'll just take your punch lines and snort 'emShit-stained drawers, you gon' fuck with a guyWho licks the blades of his chainsawsWhile he dips 'em in P. F. Chang's sauce?Game's up, homieHang it up like some crank callsYou think I'm backin' down?You must be out of your dang skullsI'm almost famousYou dream of trading placesI have been changing facesYou cannot fill these shoesThere is too much to loseWake up behind these trenchesYou run around defenselessThere is too much to loseYou cannot fill these shoesI just wanna be famous, butBe careful what you wish forI'm back for revengeI lost a battle, that ain't happenin' againI'm at your throat like strepI step, strapped with a penMetaphors wrote on my handSome are just stored in my memorySome I wrote on a napkinI do what I have to to winPullin' out all stopsAny who touch a mic prior'sNot even Austin PowersHow the fuck are they Mike Myers?And tell that psycho to pass the torch to the wacko'Fore I take a shit in his Jack-O-LanternAnd smash it on his porchNow get off my dick!'Dick''s too short of a word for my dickGet off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick!Don't call me the ChampCall me the Space Shuttle DestroyerI just blew up the ChallengerMatter fact, I need a lawyerI just laced my gloves withEnough plaster to make a castBeat his ass nakedAnd peed in his corner like Verne TroyerY'all are Eminem backwards: you're Mini MesSee, he's in a whole nother weight classHe's slugs, you're BBs: you're bean-bag bulletsYou're full of itYou were dissin' his CD's, laughed at InfiniteNow he's back like someone pissed in his wheatiesNo peace treaties, he's turned into a beastHis new Slim Shady EP'sGot the attention of the mighty D. R. EHe's almost famousYou dream of trading placesI have been changing facesYou cannot fill these shoesThere is too much to loseWake up behind these trenchesYou run around defenselessThere is too much to loseYou cannot fill these shoesI just wanna be famous, butBe careful what you wish forNow there he goes in Dre's studioCuppin' his ballsScreamin' the wood off the panelin'Cussin' the paint off the wallsSpewin' his hate to these hatersShowin' no love for these broadsHe ain't givin' them shitHe says he'll pinch a penny so hardHe'll leave a bruise on the bronze so darkYou can see the markWith the scars, 'til Abraham Lincoln is screamin' out, "Ahh! "These metaphors and similes ain't similar to themNot at allIf they don't like it, they can all get fuckedInstead of suckin' him offThey can go get a belt or a neck tie to hang themselves byLike David CarradineThey can go fuck themselves and just dieAnd eat shit while they at it, he's fuckin' had itHe's mad at the whole worldSo go to hell and build a snowman, girlThe bullies become bulliedAnd pussies get pushedThen they better pull meTake me back to 9th grade to school me'Cause I ain't lookin' back, only forwardThis whole spot blowin'Who coulda known he'd grow to be a poet and not know it?And while I'm bein' poeticLet me get it stoic and raise the barHigher than my opinionOf these women's been loweredSo bear witness to some biblical shitThere's a cold wind blowin'This world ain't gonna know what hit itHe did it, he made it, he's finally famous
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