Eminem - Freestyle at Tim Westwood (Slaughterhouse - Microphone) | Текст песни

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• Eminem
• Freestyle at Tim Westwood (Slaughterhouse - Microphone)

[Verse 1]
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 2]
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

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