Eminem feat. Buggz & Proof - Desperados (Rare) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Eminem feat. Buggz & Proof
• Desperados (Rare)

Yo, ayyo turn the heads up and the mics up
We got the Dreadknaughts, y'knahmsayin
Super MC, y'knahmean
Bugz, Dirty and all that, all that shit, y'knahmsayin
Desperados with the cars, Eminem

[Verse 1: Eminem]
Chauvinist pig, drove in this big Lincoln
Till it went over the bridge
Jumped out and dove in the ditch
Broke in a mobile home and stole a stove and a fridge/a>
Kidnapped the parents and left the ransom note for the kids
I'ma go for your mids, here's a body blow for your ribs
While you're clutching your stomach and bleeding all over your bitch
I know where you live, your girl showed me your crib
Unless she told me a fib, then I'ma have both of ya did
Burning incense, facing a murder sentence
Under intense investigation for killing infants
While I sit in padded rooms doing shrooms
Having visions of dead pregnant women with brooms jabbed in they wombs
Slit your carpet and rugs and fuck your apartment up
Sticking it far with drugs, and jumping in garbage trucks
I'm from the shitty slums that look like the city dumps
Give you a kidney punch, and mug you to get me lunch
See me every summer laying up against the dumpster
With a hundred dollar jumper smothered in Southern Comfort
Got my Slim Shady sticker on your mother's bumper
She came home screaming, a bunch of motherfuckers jumped her

[Verse 2: Proof]
Ayyo, proceed to list em, there's no need to diss em
Down here we heat em, destroy your whole breathing system
Twist em like beer caps once they hear that
Rap murder rates, and I snap vertebrates
Collapse further states, my track preserve the great
Your pack deserve a crate, in fact the word is fate
I kill you slow like AIDS-infested nuts
I'm holding vendetta like seven great-molested sluts
Calling me a bitch nigga, you need to stop
Reality, one on one, how many times you got dropped?
I'm cutthroat when any track runs, conscious when I smack nuns
The rough neck that make Muslims run and pack guns
I'm volcanic, the sermon preacher
Burning emcees, most wanted by Herman Kiefer
You tried to get a squad, they was like \"Money, oh no\"
Leave you brain-dead, hitting trees with Sonny Bono
I kick without a dojo, D12 slow flow
Shoot down your mothership and pimp-smack mojo
No pro wanna go knuckle-blades with the renegade
Nigga tried to go pop, and plus they minute-made
My lieutenant sprayed your brigade and trampled your flow
Big P, the reason emcees cancelled they show
The truth will hurt, seeing Proof at work, no shame in it
The best part of your show is when you put my name in it
My squad be godly, fearing shit hardly
So I hope when I'mma die, dope like Chris Farley

[Verse 3: Bugz]
Fuck that!
Who run shit once these drums hit?
You dove headfirst into some old dumb shit
Here's a can of asswhip, for you to come get
Yo' click made they trip, I make them hoes suck mint
Ask them girl, they know the scoop, don't fuck with Bugz bitch
I chop off her titty, have you sucking one tit
Them pink belly niggas, is who you run wit
Making half-ass songs, shitty snares and one kick
I hate yo' damn sound, don't like it one bit~!
You could make a double album, won't have one hit
Your entire outfit, is on some bullshit
And there's not a damn one that I can't outwit
I ad-mit, that my style is unfit
For momma's baby boy, because I'm on some dumb shit
Like I commit, larceny, give harm quick
You pull the alarm switch I stab you in your armpit
Now who the nitwit wanna come get wit
This egotistic Hip Hop fundamentalistic?
Don't risk it, you get your shit split
Now keep your distance, and keep existence
I'm persistent when it comes to bent shit
I smoke a, blunt with my judge right before my sentence
I'm relentless, to deny is senseless
Yo' bitch paid my bill, that's where the hell yo' rent went
Fuck that!

[Verse 4: Supa Emcee]
I kill competition, with no way out as an opposition
Execute the passengers on the flight, my executive decision
Then reminisce on how Shady the business
Terrorists asked by Iraelis when they visit
Bombing incentive, World War Three in the making
Murdered the exhibition, team finish! Beat the ref senseless!
No timeout, extended play burns over your intermission
Then christen the battlefield with the blood of Christians
Crying for the messiah, but he don't listen
I pop my wig when I top the stove frame, boil sizzling
A pyromaniac cook, I do damage to kitchens
Fuck Home Depot, I demolition
When I home improve, you need Bob here to fix it
Fuck school and supervision
Bit off of financial aid and smoked up my tuition
Only hang around rappers with explicit lyrics
And pistol-grip punks for the beefing, do you wanna get heated?

[Verse 5: Stilla Shellz]
I got a mind full of troubles, everything's in doubles
I buy my guns in couples, no time for placement fumbles
Cause emcees come and emcees go, with broke flow
Injured from head to toe, no fitter model, we full-throttle
You stuck in low, incapable to master flow
Everything is tactical, living mathematical
I smash the flow, unleash and let go
I shit like lava, original designer
Married to marijuana since a minor
Making attempts to sink my battleship could get you bent like fibs, what?
Applying death-defying feats, maintain to keep my peace
Flow like the sea when I release these beats over concrete

[Verse 6: 0-1]
My presidented transition has taken place
As I express vocally on the M-I-C-R-O
Power he's cipher, not equality, I deal it
Lace the track and made it real, now I know my people feel it
Keep their heads bobbing and the emotionals sobbing
Plus a culture-cipher after shows, hoes slobbing
Knobs, love the fucking flavor of the icing
Plus I'm precise and, my double edge continue slicing

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