卐 - Almost Famous | Текст песни

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• Almost Famous

I can almost taste it,
This shit makes no sense to me,
What does it all mean??
I can almost taste it,
I can almost savour it,
This shit makes no sense to me,
What does it all mean??
I can almost taste it...

Yeah, can't stop now...
This maybe the last chance I get
To be famous!

You dream of trading places,
I have been changing faces,
You cannot fill these shoes,
There is too much to lose.
Wake up behind these trenches,
You run around defenceless,
There is too much to lose,
You cannot fill these shoes.
-I just wanna be famous but...
-Be careful what you wish for!

I stuck my dick in this game
Like a rapist,
They call me Slim Roethlisberger,
I get bezerker than
A fed up post office worker,
A murker with a Mossberg,
I'm pissed off, get murdered
Like someone took a ketchup squirter,
Squirted a frankfurter!
For a gangsta, you sure did
Shit your pants when you saw
The chainsaw get to waving
Like a Terrible Towel,
How things turn around,
When his fangs come out,
Get your brains blown out!
That's what I call blowing your mind,
When I come back
Like nut on your spine,
I'm a thumbtack that you slept on son,
Now here I come screaming "Attack!"
Like I just stepped on one!

Low on the totem til' he showed 'em
Defiance, giant scrotum,
He don't owe them bitches shit,
His britches, he out grow'd em,
He's so out cold, he's knocked out
At the south pole and
Nobody fucks with him,
Rigor mortis and post-mortem,
He's dying of boredom,
Take your best rhymes, record 'em,
Then try to thwart him, he'll
Take your punchlines and snort 'em.
Shit-stained drawers,
You gon' fuck with the guy
That licks the blades of his chainsaws
While he dips 'em in P.F.Chang's sauce,
Game's up homie,
Hang it up like some crank calls,
You think I'm backing down,
You must be out your dang skulls!
I'm almost famous...

I'm back for revenge,
I lost the battle,
That ain't happening again
I'm at your throat like strep,
I step, strapped with a pen,
Metaphors wrote on my hand,
Some are just stored in my memory,
Some are wrote on a napkin,
I do what I have to to win,
Pulling out all stops,
Any who touched a mic prior
Is not even Austin Powers,
How the fuck are they Mike Myers?
And tell that psycho
To pass the torch to the whacko
'For I take a shit
In his jackolantern
Then smash it on his porch,
Now get off my dick, dick's
Too short of a word for my dick,
Get off my
Antidisestablishmentarianism,
You prick!

Don't call me the champ, call me
The space shuttle destroyer
I just blew up the challenger,
Matter of fact, I need a lawyer,
I just laced my gloves with
Enough plaster to make a cast,
Beat his ass naked and
Pee'd in his corner
Like Verne Troyer,
Ya'll are Eminem backwards,
You're Mini-Mes,
See he's in
A-whole-nother weight class,
He's slugs, you're BBs,
You're bean-bag bullets.
You're full of it,
You were dissing his CD's,
Laughed at Infinite,
Now he's back
Like someone pissed in his wheaties,
No peace treaties,
He's turned into a beast,
His new Slim Shady EP's got
The attention of the mighty Dre,
He's almost famous...

Now there he goes in Dre's studio
Cupping his balls,
Screaming the wood off the panel
And cussing the paint off the walls,
Spewing his hate to these haters,
Showing no love for these brauds.
He ain't giving 'em shit,
He says he'll pinch a penny so hard
He'll leave a bruise on the bronze
So dark you can see the mark
With the scars til Abraham Lincoln
Is screaming out "AHHH!"
His metaphors and sim

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