What?
Did I hurt your feelings?
Uh...I'm supposed to be scared now, right?
Yo...I'd like to dedicate this record right here
To Mr. Marshall Mathers' mother, yeah
This one's for your moms
Here come the mighty
One they call Whitey
All you sons of Whitey
Are all dickbiters
So won't the real Slim Shady please act up?
Get smacked up
Get your eyes blacked up
With your candy-ass name you're a candy-ass rapper
I'll smack you up, shut you off like the Clapper
Whoever said you was raw, son, they lied
I know that shit I spit on Dialated hurt your pride
Screamin' on a record how you wish I died
But you don't wanna see me on this physical side
You're just a big tough guy, tryin' to act hard
But you won't walk a lobby without your bodyguard
You ain't pullin' my card, you ain't ridin' the train
Back in the day, kids like you got robbed for they chain
Step to me like a man, with the hands, and get slain
Matter of fact, when you see me bitch, gimme some brain
Yo, it's like that, we could fight, Jack
Let's put the mics down, you'll catch a beatdown
I get love in New York, got fam in L.A.
And I heard you might be the MC that's gay
With your platinum blonde Caesar, you look like a ho
Like M and M stands for Marilyn Monroe
Talkin' 'bout killin' sprees, you ain't like that, yo
Makin' lots of enemies, but that's all for show
You punk ecstasy junkie, you waste of skills
Stop ridin' my dill, stay high on pills
Yo, I hope you OD, don't be playin' with me
Little bitch need to watch what you're sayin' to me
Talkin' shit for shock value, boy, you ain't real
Turned hard the day Dre gave you a record deal
You went and sold your soul for some mass appeal
Servin' up that hors d'oeuvre, kid, now eat this meal
Instead of worryin' about who you should be dissin'
You need to worry about who your wifey been kissin'
Or if you go to prison while you're doin' your bid
I'll look in on your lady and do things for your kid
Make her write you lots of letters about the things that we did
And send you pictures of me chillin' all up in your crib
That shit about Sway n' Tek? That was a fib
First time you met me I showed you love in D.C.
But you were scared like a pussy with your eyes on the floor
While your crew showed me love outside the front door
Talkin' 'bout "Yo, whassup, ain't you Whitey Ford?
I love that song 'What It's Like' and that jam 'Praise the Lord'"
I don't do this for the money, yo, I do it for fun
You might hang around some gangstas, but you ain't one
And you won't be slappin' me with no empty gun
Talkin' 'bout a fag but you a one in drag
And you can't keep your woman from goin' astray
Better run and check your kid for your DNA
I take care of my moms, you get sued by yours
With your corny metaphors about drugs and crack whores
You're a sucker
Word up, for real
You wanna talk some shit money, come talkin' with the hands, B
I ain't wastin' no more time with you, man, fuck that shit, that's it
