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The Ringer

The Ringer

Hits: 226.2K
Artist: Eminem

Lyrics

Yeah, yo I'm just gonna write down my first thoughts And see where this takes me, 'Cause I feel like I wanna punch the world in the fuckin' face right now Yeah, let me explain just how to make greatness Straight out the gate, I'm 'bout to break you 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 thinking 'bout no bank account But bitch I'm off the chain like Taylor 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 listening 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, adios 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 emcee Maybe "Stan" just isn't your cup of tea 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, but spelled) Jam a Crest white strip 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 bashed 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 just 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?" (Ooh-ooh) 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 (ooh-ooh) 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 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 being 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 are you gonna do? Where you runnin' to? I'm gonna crumble you and I'll take a number two And dump on you if you ain't Joyner If you ain't Kendrick or Cole or Sean then you're a goner I'm 'bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it I guess when you walk into BK you expect a Whopper You can order a quarter pounder when you go to McDonald's But if you're lookin' to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival But y'all are acting like I tried to serve you up a slider Maybe the vocals should have been auto-tuned And you would have bought it But sayin' I no longer got it 'Cause you missed the line and never caught it 'Cause it went over your head, because you're too stupid to get it 'Cause you're mentally retarded but pretend to be the smartest With your expertise and knowledge, but you'll never be an artist And I'm harder on myself than you could ever be regardless What I'll never be is flawless, all I'll ever be is honest Even when I'm gone they're gonna say I brought it Even when I hit my forties like a fuckin' alcoholic With a bottle full of malt liquor But I couldn't bottle this shit any longer The fact that I know that I'ma hit my bottom If I don't pull myself from the jaws of defeat and rise to my feet I don't see why y'all even started with me I get impeached, my enemies die I don't ceasefire 'til at least all are deceased I'm eastside, never be caught slippin' Now you see why I don't sleep Not even a wink, I don't blink I don't doze off, I don't even nod to the beats I don't even close my fuckin' eyes when I sneeze "Aw, man! That BET cypher was weak, it was garbage The Thing ain't even orange—oh my God, that's a reach!" Shout to all my colorblind people, each and every one of y'all If you call a fire engine green, aquamarine Or you think water is pink "Dawg, that's a date," "Looks like an olive to me." "Look, there's an apple!" "No it's not, it's a peach!" So finger-bang, Pootie Tang, Burger King, Gucci Gang, Mookie, dang Charlamagne gonna hate anyway Doesn't matter what I say Give me Donkey of the Day What a way for 2018 to get underway But I'm gonna say everything that I wanna say Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch (yeah) Invite them in like a one a day I'm not done (preach) 'Cause I feel like the beast of burden That line in the sand, was it even worth it? 'Cause the way I see people turnin' Is makin' it seem worthless It's startin' to defeat the purpose I'm watchin' my fan base shrink to thirds And I was just trying to do the right thing, but word Has the court of public opinion reached a verdict Or still yet to be determined? 'Cause I'm determined to be me, critique the worship But if I could go back I'd at least reword it And say I empathize with the people this evil serpent Sold the dream to that he's deserted But I think it's workin' These verses are makin' him a wee bit nervous And he's too scurred to answer me with words 'Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered But I know at least he's heard it 'Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service To meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin' him Or ask if I'm linked to terrorists I said, "Only when it comes to ink and lyricists" But my beef is more media journalists (Hold up, hold up, hold up) I said my beef is more meaty, a journalist Can get a mouthful of flesh And yes, I mean eating a penis 'Cause they been pannin' my album to death So I been givin' the media fingers Don't wanna turn this to a counselling sesh But they been puttin' me through the ringer So I ain't ironin' shit out with the press But I just took this beat to the cleaners

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