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The Marshall Mathers LP 2,
Midnight to twelve,
[Intro]
(What's your name?) Marshall
(Who's your daddy?) I don't have one
[Verse 1]
My mother reproduced like the komodo dragon
And had me on the back of a motorcykle
Then crashed in the side of lokomotive with rap, I'm loco
It's like handin' 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 'em)
(But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't)
(Follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan)
A Jedi in trainin', colossal brainin', thoughts are entertainin'
But docile and impossible to explain, I'm also vain and
Probably find a way to complain about a Picasso paintin'
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 the ram-page, couldn't see what I wrote, I write small
It says, "Ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with whitewalls
Had a fire in my heart and a dire desire to aspire to die hard"
So as long as I'm on the clock punchin' this time card
Hip-Hop ain't diyin' on my watch
[Chorus]
Now 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
[Verse 2]
(What's your name?) Marshall
(Who's your daddy?) I don't know, but I wonder
(Is he rich like me?) Ha!
(Has he taken, any time, to show, show you what you need to live?)
NO! If he had he wouldn't have ended up in these rhymes in 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 rappin' Blue lights flashin'
Laughin' all the way to the bank
Lampin' in my K-mart masions
I'm in the style department
With a pile in my cart, rippin' the aisle apart but
With a 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 devil's music)
Does that mean it belongs to me?
Cause I just happen to be a white honkey 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
[Chorus]
It's the time of the season, when hate runs high
And this time, I won't 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
[Verse 3]
So (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, show you what you need to live?)
So yeah, Dad, Let's walk
Let's have us a father and son talk
But I bed we wouldn't probably get one block
Without me knockin' your block off,
This is all your fault
Maybe, that's why I'm so bananas, I a-ppealed to all those walks
Of life, who ever had strife
Maybe that's what dad and son talk are like
Cause I, realted 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 as everybody bloodies their bare knuckles
Yeah, uh-oh better beware knuckle heads
The sign on my hustle says,
"Don't knock", 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 gettin' stoned in your glass house, to kick rocks
Then you wonder why I lash out
Mr. Mathers as advertised in the flyers, so spread the word
Cause I'm promotin' my passion 'til I'm passed out
Completely brain dead, Rain Man
Doin' the bankhead in a restraint chair
So bitch, 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 fuckin' thing, yeah
Even this rhyme bitch and
Quit tryin' to look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't there
And I still am a Criminal
Ten year-old degenerate grabbin' on my genitals
The last Mathers LP done went diamond
This time I'm predictin' that this one'll go emerald
When will the madness end, how can it when
There's no method to the ped and pen
The only message that I have to send
Is Dad, I'm back at it again
Yeah... (Who's your daddy?)
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