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    Yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah, yeah
    (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 entertainin'
    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 seein' 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 sleepin'
    She comes to me in my dreams
    Is she taken, is she mine?
    Don't got time, 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
    (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 dancin', 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

    (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 talk
    But I bet we probably wouldn't get one block
    Without me knockin' your block off
    This is all your fault
    Maybe that's why I'm so bananas
    I appeal to all those walks of life
    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 sign of my hustle says don't knock
    The doors broken, it won't lock
    It might just fly open, get cold cocked
    You critics come to pay 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
    Completely brain dead Rainman
    Going a 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 eight other reindeer
    Put together with Chief Keef
    Cause I hate every fucking thing, yeah
    Even this rhyme, bitch
    And quit tryna look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't there
    But 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 send is
    Dad, I'm back at it again, yeah

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