Yeah yeah... yeah yeah yeah. (What's your name?) Marshall. (Who's your daddy?) I don't have one. My mother reproduced like a komodo dragon. And had me on the back of a motorcycle. Then crashed in the side of loco-motive with rap. I'm loco. It's like handing a psycho a loaded handgun. Michelangelo with a paint gun. In a tantrum. Bout to explode all over the canvas. Back with the Yoda of rap in a spasm. Your music usually has them. But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't. Follow you must Rick Rubin my little Padawan. A Jedi in training colossal brain. And thoughts are entertainin'. But docile and impossible to explain and I'm also vain and. Probably find a way to complain. About a Picasso painting. Puke Skywalker but sound like. Chewbacca when I talk. Full of such blind rage I need a seein' eye dog. Can't even find the page. I was writing this rhyme on. Oh it's on a rampage couldn't see. What I wrote I write small. It says ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with white walls. Had a fire in my heart. And a dire desire to aspire to Die Hard. So as long as I'm on the clock. Punching this time card. Hip-hop ain't dying on my watch. But sometimes when I'm sleepin'. She comes to me in my dreams. Is she taken is she mine?. Don't got time don't care don't have two shits to give. Let me take you by the hand to promise land. And threaten everyone. 'Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing. (What's your name?) Marshall. (Who's your daddy?) I don't know him but I wonder. (Is he rich like me?) Ha. (Has he taken any time. To show you what you need to live?). No if he had he wouldn't have ended up. In these rhymes on my pad. I wouldn't be so mad my attitude wouldn't be so bad. Yeah Dad. I'm the epitome and the prime example of what happens. When the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong hands. And makes you want to get up. And start dancin' even if it is Charles Manson. Who just happens to be rapping blue lights flashing. Laughing all the way to the bank. Lamping in my K-Mart mansion. I'm in the style department. With a pile in my cart ripping the aisle apart with. Great power comes absolutely no responsibility for content. Completely despondent and condescending. The king of nonsense. And controversy is on a beat killing spree. Your honor I must plead guilty. 'Cause I sparked a revolution rebel without a cause. Who caused the evolution of rap. To take it to the next level boost it. But several rebuked it and whoever produced it. (Hip-hop is the devil's music) Is that me. It belongs to me?. Cause I just happen to be. A White honky devil with two horns. That don't honk but every time I speak you hear a beep. But lyrically I never hear a peep not even a whisper. Rappers better stay clear of me bitch cause it's the. It's the time of the season when hate runs high. And this time give it to you easy. When I take back what's mine with pleasured hands. And torture everyone that is my plan. My job here isn't done. Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing. (What's your name?) Shady. (Who's your daddy?) I don't give a fuck but I wonder. (Is he rich like me?) Doubt it ha. (Has he taken any time to show you what you need to live?). So yeah Dad let's walk let's have us a father and son talk. But I bet we probably wouldn't get one block. Without me knockin' your block off. This is all your fault. Maybe that's why I'm so bananas. I appeal to all those walks of life. Whoever had strife. Maybe that's what dad and son talks are like. Cause I related to the struggles of young America. When their fucking parents were unaware of their troubles. Now they're ripping out their fucking hair again. It's hysterical. I chuckle 'cause everybody. Bloodies their bare knuckles yeah uh-oh. Better beware knuckleheads. The sign of my hustle says don't knock. The doors broken it won't lock. It might just fly open get cold cocked. You critics come to pay me a visit. Misery loves company please stay a minute. Kryptonite to a hypocrite. Zip your lip if you dish it but can't take it. Too busy getting stoned in your glass house to kick rocks. Then you wonder why I lash out. Mister Mathers as advertised on the flyers. So spread the word. 'Cause I'm promoting my passion til I'm passed out. Completely brain dead Rainman. Going a bankhead in a restraint chair. So bitch if you shoot me a look it better be a blank stare. Or get shanked in the pancreas. I'm angrier than all eight other reindeer. Put together with Chief Keef. Cause I hate every fucking thing yeah. Even this rhyme bitch. And quit tryna look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't there. But I still am a CRIMINAL. Ten-year-old degenerate grabbing on my GENITALS. The last Mathers LP that went diamond. This time I'm predicting this one will go EMERALD. When will the madness end. How can it when there's no method to the pad and pen. The only message that I have to send is. Dad I'm back at it again yeah