Eminem - Bet Shady 2.0 Cypher (feat. Joe Budden, Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5’9″ and Yelawolf) | Текст песни

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• Eminem
• Bet Shady 2.0 Cypher (feat. Joe Budden, Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5’9″ and Yelawolf)

[Eminem:]
Welcome to Detroit
This is the BET Shady 2.0 Cypher 2011
Myself, Slaughterhouse and Yelawolf

White dog, get em!

[Yelawolf:]
Put these muthafuckas in a box and I send ‘em away
Put 'em in a gray 'Lac and pop the trunk
Hey throw 'em in the back, jack, I dig ‘em a grave
Put a brick inside that Xerox, when I print ‘em a page
Moving keys I can't relate, cause I live in a cage
I throw up the A, I take ‘em to school,
I give em a grade, an easy E for effort
That's WWA, white with an attitude
Alphabet soup is on my plate
All I got is Z’s they sleeping on me, I can’t get ‘em awake
I spoon feed them the sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
Who believe they making it rain cause all they see is the clouds
And I watch from the couch of the VIP
Like a potato with a bunch of meatheads like fuck it
I just feed em a cow
Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
But before you can pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
But what it's like to pick a fight with me
It’s like putting Nikes on a cheetah, betta speed up
Or at least in my case Addidas
I'm out this bitch drinking Sprite by the 2 liter
Holler, Shady records

[Joe Budden:]
Say I’m from the new school, I’ma say check ya tone and watch ya mouth
If they teaching how to dougie, I’m condoning dropping out
Forced to wile, y'all birthed and gave me up
I just perfected being hip hops foster child, now check it
I don’t blame y’all for being trash fans and copping it
The radio’s the crime scene the masses are the hostages
In my youth I'd throw shots, the fan would dodging it
I’m grown, I ain't watching the throne, I’m sabotaging it
You see that four headed monster and the storm looms
Snipe ‘em from a distance, the scope got a long zoom
You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
Got a figure here you won’t get bigger if you on shrooms
Was left to me I'd revive what the game be ’bout
I’da took the wine outta Amy house
Enough raps from you scrub cats about cocking a snub back
Wayne couldn’t teach me how to love that
But I got this shit from uptown, she my summer bunny
Both parents broke but she comes from money
Think my bread is her paper to burn
So I lock her out and now she doubt David is Stern
She so bad I make her hit the telly from a taxi
Then dead her in that Holiday Inn
Learnt that from Max B
That's why the haters of every kind wanna send me Llamas
I made it right before they eyes like I was Benihanas
Is it me? Or is what I'm hearing just pitiful?
Airwaves the same now the stereo’s typical
My skin thick so the critics ignore
So unafraid to die you think I did it before
The boys Rodman with the trash talk
Magical walk with the black ball way I bounce off the asphalt with cat paws
Glass jaw, hoody and mask would be the black folk with no passport
Body be found in the mansion in one of my trap doors
If pumps had awards ya status whore category
Probably be that of awards 'tween Michael Rappaport and Kenny Lattimore
I know hip hops alive and well
If it died, you other crews wouldn’t survive the smell

(Ladies & Gentlemen... you're scared now)
(Make that face at 'em dawg)
(Crooked I.. get 'em)

[Crooked I:]
I spot a victim, the plot’ll thicken when the clock is tickin'
I caught em slippin', I gotta give em a shot, I hit em with proper spittin'
Hottest writtens and compositions, so competition's a contradiction
Somebody mentioned they got it crooked, highly fiction,
We probably different, got Gotti henchmen,
Opposition our body quick as Bugatti engines
I’m on a mission to get richer,
The sickest lyric kicker diggin' a ditch for different spitters
Sweet lyricists get disfigured, sip liquor
Spit like a sick mixture
Of Notorious Pun and L get the big picture
The poster I’ll roast ya,
My mind so deadly it’s just like the beanie is close to a holster
It’s over control my whole coastal region like I’m supposed to
Flow is going postal evening, open season
Heart close to freezing, ruthless is easy nigga
Approach I’m squeezing, believe me
Dopest West Coaster breathing
So most y'all hope I’m vegan, no pun, beefing
Rappers need to keep it trill
Give me a beat to kill too many people still eating sleeping pills
People sleeping on my ether skills
And y'all ain't even real
We about to die in this cypher
Before you die you should do the Jada and leave a Will
Foreal

[Joeel Ortiz:]
Yaooowa
I ain't a rap dude, I’m a dude who rap
Before this I was moving crack
Killers y’all become when y’all rhyme, I salute and dap
And if I blink then remove ya snaps, you ain't cool you wack
With ya foolish yac’s? skinny jeans don't mean ya ass shoot
It means ya booty claps
Don’t play like Tyler Perry, this the Slaughterhouse of Pain
Flow brown, tight and heavy
When it comes to sixteen’s I’m a fiend feinding a studio
Near a needle with a mean lean, probably writing bars to Nas "Thief theme"
Getting my Yaowa on, may all the Olajuwon’s be the dream team
This is an all day slaughter
They feindin for us to break like Beyonce’s water
The four quarters doing all the eating
And you gotta know why I made the cut, I’m Puerto Rican
Ortiz keep the fire ready
And tryna put me out’s like tryna steal a transvestite from Eddie

[Royce Da 5'9':]
I’m do or die dope
And you can make the sticker sittin' on the door
Of that phantom your suicide note
Hi Rihanna..
Is Nicki living with you? Let me know
So I can buy binoculars and telescopes
Hi Rihanna..
I don’t need to know you better
You tell me you love my music again, we go together
Bye Rihanna...
Now back to y’all fools
We rock out like the outside of a guitar school
Thousand dollar frames, I prefer to see the world through
Don’t ask me nothing bout Budden, I beat my girl too
You ask me why do I keep her? I say it’s cheaper to
That’s why I ride around in a Rolls like Wiz Khalifa do
Rappers, I’m your daddy, I tell you straight as this
You don’t kill but your father Will like Jaden Smith
I tell ya like I tell my Spanish chick
You fly but I ain’t going down on no landing strip
So get your wax on like Daniel-son
Or I’ma have to run like De La Hoya in drag when cameras come
Point out the greatest rapper alive I headshot ‘em
Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some red bottom
Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
While I’m cyber sexing with Jessica Alba, via Skype
I’m on my d-boy, d-bo thing
Spiritual steelo swing like Cee-Lo Green
Get out the camera with yo B Roll bling
You know your flow is whack
We cornered the market like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac
Yeah, this what 2 million singles sold and a album that’s gold
Look like, without having to sell your soul
Nickle

[Eminem:]
Wait, can I rap?

(You da Boss, you better get 'em)

Ayo... lyrical miracle spiritual individual criminal subliminal
In your swimmin' pool

(Boo.. come on man, get back on.. kick that shit)

You ’bout to see peace destroyed
It’ll never be restored
When I unleash these beastly hoards on your CD stores
Wanna stop it, you gon' need a priest and at least three swords
A license to ill from the Beastie Boys, 3 Ouija boards
And a squeegee and please be warned don’t ask for the squeegees for
Or the holy water, acid rap that’ll eat these floors
Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns?
And as for me, you ask when I’m gone "will he be mourned?"
Is puke luke warm? Should Casey Anthony do porn?
Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a freakin' shoebox
With a shoehorn, smothered in chloroform so she can go get her groove on?
Can she duct tape and Velcro a fetus? Joell yo,
Tell Joe I need his empty box from his old shell toe adidas
So I can put these babies in the fetal position,
They’re getting elbows to the penis
Yeah, big deal. I took some little kids big wheel
And spit in his fricken big kids meal
Quit tryna bite me and pinch, you wench, sit still
You just put your six inch heel through my Benz windshield?
Is it dust we bout to kick up?
Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup?
Between a stick shift in his fricken pick up
And drink like a hick, redneck, hillbilly will till he gets hiccups?
Flippin' the script up like Mike Vick
Get bit in his junk by a pit, yup I’m a sick pup
I’d be a horrible magician
Cause I’d fuck that trick up
Fix ya lips up to say something fly, or zip up
A-B? Let’s C. You said you were gonna do X-Y-Z
Till you fuck around and get dropped like an E
When you add an I-N-G
Don’t put a K in front of that though, when I MC
Cause I’m not the king of this microphone booth
It’s more like a phonebooth
Superman in this bitch, kryptonite won’t do
It gives me more power, I bump the fat boys and
Eat rat poison, take meteor showers
Fresh outta the mental hospital and me not flossing a middle finger
While I hop in a mosh pit, will be like Nas doing gospel or R&B, you crazy?
Me pushing up daisies? That thought is impossible
As if flashing across the news, Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute
With a huge Johns

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