Eminem & Slaughterhouse - Microphone Remix (Prod. By Alchemist) | Текст песни

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• Eminem & Slaughterhouse
• Microphone Remix (Prod. By Alchemist)

[Verse 1 - Royce Da 5'9\"]
Too many Indians and no Chiefs
I pull out the pistol when I promote peace
I'm the blueprint
I have your clothes lookin' like they was designed by bullet holes and shoe prints
When I bless a joint, it's like Spock
Came up in the spot and grabbed the beat by the pressure point
I got the Vulcan touch
I tell my bitch I'mma give up drinkin' when she give her emotions up
Too many enemies and no killers
Too many that hate snitchin' but know squealers
I get stacks (stacks)
I blam hard with the click-clack, that Antarctica wrist wrap
I spit crack for y'all niggas to get dope
Y'all gotta wait for the Transporter to get back
So who's the illest - what you talkin 'bout
Die Hard like you Bruce Willis when I shoot to kill it
Too many hood guys, not enough good guys
The way you say pussy in plural, is puss-i
I don't be fuckin' around on that microphone
When I'm kickin' them flows on that microphone
The illest nigga that's holdin' that microphone
I put my heart and my soul in that microphone
I put it down on that (microphone)
Turn up the motherfuckin' sound on that microphone

[Verse 2 - Eminem]
Once again, it's the sinister cynical minister Shady
Kryptonite to Superman, he's a dentist to Amy
Administerer of the pain, he just finished huffin' the paint
And muffled the fumes like it was nothin', because it ain't
Anything in his way, his enemies he just slays
His venom he sprays, reaches like beams of energy rays
Menacing stares, he glares, making the hairs
All on the back of ya neck stand like Dracula, yep
Spectacular rep, he's a tarantula, gargantuan
Yeah, Angela, so I command ya to start dancin'
Part Manson, part Hannibal, part mechanical shark
Throwing animal parts at Scarlett Johansen
Enter my gas chamber, you gangsta? My ass
He's got his fangs to your neck, he's set to strangle ya ass, hater
You're facin' a task greater, he's chasin' your ass
He's got his face in a mask, your blood stains on his glass table

[Verse 3 - Eminem]
I'm checking the exposure of photos exposing
Myself locked inside of a cozy hotel posing
With or without clothing, next to the decomposing
Bodies eroding while I'm dozing off, overdosing
Windows opening, shutting; doors opening, closing
I think there's a ghost, too much hydrocodone and codeine
I was only 'sposed to swallow a half, I took the whole thing
I'm not joking, I think I just snorted my nose ring
I need a drink, I'm standing over the sink hosing
Myself, self-loathing, cause I'm on a brink, mostly
I don't wanna think; this will make everything rosy
Beverly sings, scream while I'm severing three toesies
Totally frozen while I close in
I'm yodelling \"Rosie, won't you come out to play?\"
And no sense wasting time, cutting and pasting headlines
In the papers, making shrines of my crimes and capers
My words are whirlwinds, I murder my girlfriends
Go to Europe and put Nurofens in my syrup and stirred 'em
You never heard 'em like this, so don't encourage him
The neurosurgeon, coke mirrors, and lyrics worse than
The kinda person to get Katie Couric to cursin'
Eighty spirits of ladies cause Shady murdered the virgins
Crazy, turn him, convinced that he emerged
Took over the world and reeled in all the children
Lured 'em into the building and killed 'em
Buried 'em in the mulch and mildew and he will do what he feels
And still can spin, straw to gold like Rumplestilskin
Cotton to silk, Motrin to Tylenol, three pills
The Real Slim Shady's entered the buildin'
There's nothing but crumbled leaves and tumbleweeds up in this bitch
Mildred, he's ill with it, he still shouldn't be healed
There's no one as sick as he, MC's will get fricassed on the grill, then

[Verse 4 - Crooked I]
But turn it down if you weak on that microphone
Lame niggas shouldn't speak on that microphone
My ultrasounds show me holdin' a microphone
That's on my momma, I was born with a microphone
Groupies love Crooked I on the microphone
Like James Brown I'mma die on the microphone
Too many rappers need to leave this mic alone
They on the same bullshit that Mike was on
You're lookin' at the unseen, listenin' to the unheard
I kill your career with one word, Slaughterhouse
You're verbally flirtin' with murder, you got some nerve
I lift your skirt like a young perv - knock 'em out
We the mob, homie who need a job
Plus I'm so fly tell Derek Fisher I need a lob
Too many in this industry I need to rob
And if eatin niggas made you obese, I be The Blob
Fuck props, nigga this a different conquest
Listener's hear me spit and think it's a pissin' contest
I'm in it for power, if cowards try to stop me
They better off usin a fishin pole to reel in the Lock Ness
Yes! I got a barrel that'll spot wussies
If you are what you eat, how come I'm not pussy

[Verse 5 - Joell Ortiz]
You lil' niggas better come off that microphone
I'm educated but I'm dumb on that microphone
Don't even bother, you'll be done on that microphone
I turn a father to a son on that microphone
I'm a revolver in the slum on that microphone
And tell The Source I don't need no microphone
Too many critics tend to be silly
Too many frogs go ribbit but never leave lillies
I get it poppin' like a nine milli
Now I'm havin' a whale of a good time, I'm a Free Willy
Y'all lip singers take a pic, click, cheese really
Fans, who their man, I'm they quick pick easily
None of you kids spit evenly
You body my verse is like a thick bitch leavin' me
Ha ha, too many fantasies and no fame
Too many claimin' insanity and they so sane
Less than whack Scooby Snack lack flow game
Rappers everything I do be that crack cocaine
Your career is doobie wraps, slap Joe name
In any one of them verses say hello to the hearses
Too many monkey see, monkey doers
I slaughter pigs on my tail like Punky Brewster

[Verse 6 - Joe Budden]
Niggas know I get it in on that microphone
Y'all don't know where to begin on that microphone
I don't see how y'all could win on that microphone
A pioneer, I set trends on that microphone
Decide who you wan' be on that microphone
I see a bunch of lil' me's, micro clones
Too many 20 milligram Vic's I'm on
Killed the web, it don't matter what site you on
Say his mouth always runnin' off

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