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Eminem - The Ringer | Karaoke | Lyrics | Instrumental
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Eminem - The Ringer Lyrics:
[Intro]
Yeah, (Illa)
Yo, I’m just gonna write down my first thoughts, see where this takes me, ’cause I feel like I wanna punch the world in the fuckin’ face right now, yeah!
[Verse]
Let me explain just how to make greatness
Straight out the gate, I’m ’bout to break it down
Ain’t no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake, I’m ’bout
To rape the alphabet, I may raise some brows
If I press the issue just to get the anger out (brrr)
Full magazine could take Staples out
Savage but ain’t thinkin’ ’bout no bank account
But bitch, I’m off the chain like Kala Brown
Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I’m talkin’, lil’ bitch
I’m sorry, wait, what’s your talent? Oh, critiquin’
My talent? Oh, bitch, I don’t know who the fuck y’all are
To give a sub-par bar, even have an opinion of you
You mention me, millions of views, attention in news
I mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for you
Billions of views, your ten cents are two
Skim through the music to give shit reviews
To get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuse
Don’t get misconstrued, business as us’
Shit-list renewed, so get shit to do
Or get dissed, ’cause I just don’t get
What the fuck half the shit is that you’re listenin’ to
Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow
Everyone copies though? Probably no
Get this fuckin’ audio out my Audi yo, adiós
I can see why people like Lil Yachty, but not me though
Not even dissin’, it just ain’t for me
All I am simply is just an MC
Maybe “Stan“ just isn’t your cup of tea (get it)
Maybe your cup’s full of syrup and lean
Maybe I need to stir up shit, preferably
Shake the world up if it were up to me
Paul wants me to chill, y’all want me to ill
I should eat a pill, probably I will
Old me kill the new me, watch him bleed to death
I breathe on the mirror, I don’t see my breath
Possibly I’m dead, I must be possessed
Like an evil spell, I’m E-V-I-L (evil, spelled)
Jam a Crest Whitestrip in the tip of my dick
With an ice pick, stick it in a vice grip
Hang it on a spike fence, bang it with a pipe wrench
While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch
Like vice-president Mike Pence
Back up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike strip
These are things that I’d rather do than hear you on a mic
Since nine tenths of your rhyme is about ice and
Jesus Christ, man, how many times is
Someone gonna fuck on my bitch? (Fuck my side chick!)
You won’t ever see Em icy
But as cold as I get on the M-I-C
I polarize shit, so the Thames might freeze
And your skull might split like I passed you upside it
Bitch, I got the club on smash like a nightstick (yeah)
Turn down for what?
I ain’t loud enough, nah, turn the Valium up!
’Cause I don’t know how I’m gonna get your mouths to shut
Now when it doesn’t matter what caliber
I spit at, I’ll bet a hundred thousand bucks
You’ll turn around and just be like, “Man, how the fuck
Sourpuss gonna get mad just ’cause his album sucks?
And now he wants to take it out on us.“ (ooouuu)
But last week, an ex-fan mailed me a copy
Of The Mathers LP to tell me to study
It’ll help me get back to myself and she’ll love me (ooouuu)
I mailed the bitch back and said if I did that
I’d just be like everyone else in the fucking industry
Especially an effing Recovery clone of me (didn’t I think)
So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Iggy ’zae
Lil Pump, Lil Xan imitate Lil Wayne
I should aim at everybody in the game, pick a name
I’m fed up with bein’ humble
And rumor is I’m hungry, I’m sure you heard bumblings
I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach
I heard your mumblin’, but it’s jumbled in mumbo-jumbo
The era that I’m from will pummel you, that’s what it’s comin’ to
What the fuck you’re gonna do when you run into it?
I’m gonna crumble you and I’ll take a number two
And dump on you, if you ain’t Joyner
#Emin