Whitey's Revenge
(Indisponível)
What did i hurt your feelings
like i'm supposed to be scared right?
yo, i'd like to dedicate this song to Mr. Marshall Mather's mother, yeah, here's one for your moms
Here come the mighty
the one they call whitey
all you sons of whitey
are all bitch writers
son won't that bitch slim shady please act up
get smacked up, get ya eyes blacked up
with your candy ass name
your 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 Dilated hurt your pride,
screamin on a record how you wish i died, but you don't want to see me on this physical side
you just a fake tough guy, tryin to act hard
but you won't walk the lobby without your bodyguard
you aint pullin my card
you aindt ridin' a train
back in the day kds like you got robbed for they chain
step to me like a man with the hands, get slained
as a matter of fact when you see me, give me some brain
yo it's like that, you wanna fight jack
lets put the mics down you'll catch a beat down
i get love in new york, i got fam in LA
and i heard you might be the MC that's gay
with your platinum blonde ceasar you look like a hoe
like M and M stand for Marilyn Monroe
talkin bout killin sprees you aint like that yo
makin lots of enemies but thats all for show
you punk ecstacy junkie
you waste of skills
stop ridin my heels
stay high on pills
boy i hope you OD
don't be playin with me
little bitch need to watch what you sayin to me
talking shit for shock value
boy you aint real
turned hard the day Dre gave you a record deal
you went and sold your soul for some mass appeal
servin up that hor's doerve kid now eat this meal
instead of worryin about who you should be dissin
you need to worry about who your wifey be kissin
hopin you go to prison while you doin your bid
i'll look in on your old lady and do things for your kids
make them write you lots of letters bout the things that we did
send you pictures of me chillin all up in your crib
and that shit about sway and tech that was a fib
first tim e you seen me i showed you love in DC but you were scared like a bitch with your eyes on the floor
while your crew showed me love outside the front door
talkin bout yo whats up aint 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 aint the one
and you won't be slappin me with no empty gun
talkin bout a fag
but you the one in drag
and you can't keep your woman from going 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 bout drugs and crack whores
your a sucker
word up for real
you wanna talk shit for money
come talk it with the hands B
i aint wastin no more time with you man fuck that shit that's it...
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