Ay, you This next song, is a true story (Come here slut!)
Cause some things in this universe, don't make sense But somehow always seem to fuckin' work
[Verse 1 - Eminem:]
Driving down 975, about to hop on 696 I look over, this fucking chick's tryina' fix Her makeup, I'm like bitch? You ain't a plastic surgeon, I advise ya to put up your visor I'm getting kinda ticked, you're blocking my side mirror She's like yeah? so? I'm like so? You gon' need a stich you keep actin' like that, ho I look like your husband slut? That's a rhetorical question You talk to me like you talk to him, I'll fuck you up In fact, get in the backseat, like the rest of my dates No bitch rides shotgun, what? Taxi? Stop and pick you some Maxi Pads up? Is that what you actually ask me? Bitch reaches over and smacks me And says I annoy the fuck outta her Get in the fucking back, put on your slut powder You slut, what? Shut the fuck up now, or get your feelings hurt Worse than my last chick, when I accidentally butt dialed her And she heard me spreading age rumors about her Turn the radio up louder, make it bump While I thump that Relapse CD, tryin'a hit every bump In that cunt Thought I snap back in that accent Cause she kept asking me to stop callin' her CUNT I SAID THAT CUNT
[Hook - Eminem:]
She said, Marshall you ain't really like that, oh oh oh Your putting on a show, where's your mic at? Cause you're breaking my heart, you're breaking my heart
[Verse 2 - Royce Da 5'9":]
Uh, pull up to the club in a Porsche, not a Pinto While Marshall's at a white trash party, I'm at drama central I walk up in there looking at my phone on twitter tweetin' I'm feelin' a bunch of bitches lookin' at a nigga, cheesin' I get approached by this little skeeser She asked me if I'm the real G, cause I'm Gucci from head to feet I said, yeah, I'm really is, cause I spit in your man's face Like Cam did that little kid on Killa Season She said I'm feeling a bit of ego Wait, am I talking wrong? I said nah, I'm a walking Kanye/Beyonce song. She said I'm mad at you, I said why? She said why you never make songs for chicks as if it's hard to do? I said I make songs for me, leave the studio And go and fuck the bitch who belongs to makin' songs for you She said I'm feelin' your whole swagger and flow, can we hook up? I said, eh, you just used the word swagger so NO
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Eminem] We been ridin' around in this hatchback 'til I'm fucking hunchback Where the fuck's this party at slutbag cunt? Cut what act? Think it's an act? Fuck that, I'm tryna shag scuz Better find this love shack or somewhere to fuck at, ah, don't touch that You fat dyke, I'm tryna hear some Bagpipes from Baghdad Don't act like you don't like 'em, them accents, I rap tight And I'm a torture 'til we find this place, yeah that's right Thought it was just past this light, just past Van Dyke Better hit that map light, read them directions, oh yeah You can't read and you can't write, told me that last night She took my CD out the deck, snapped in half like Relapse sucked, I snapped, hit the gas like Blew through the light, spun out, hit a patch of black ice Forgot we had a trailer hitched to the back, we jackknifed Bitch flew out of the car, I laughed like, she deserved it She didn't think I'd act like that in person (Royce, Marshall just crashed right in front of the club!)
[Verse 4 - Royce Da 5'9":]
Tell him I'll be there in a minute, I'm tryina break up this cat fight Between my mistress and my damn wife Then a chick wanted a hug, but she was fat So I gave her that and told her