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The Shady Cxvpher
Shady Records

feat. Eminem, Slaughterhouse & Yelawolf

Skip to: KXNG CROOKED | Joe Budden | Yelawolf | Joell Ortiz | Royce Da 5'9 | Eminem

[Directed by Syndrome]


My name is KXNG CROOKED, I snap on you rappers often

When I'm spazzin' I'm just gettin' my passionate point across

Like a hood cat clappin' his hands when he's talkin'

Now that I got your attention, I feel I should really mention

Don't come around here flossin', Big Willies, we really lynch 'em

Pull out the chopper, rappers hittin' the ground

Like every bar is a bullet, when I pull it, it sound like

B-b-b-b-b a couple of bullets are comin' your way then it jam

Like god damn

Then I pick up somethin' quicker, start killin' everything in the vicinity

The proximity, the Glocksimity, we on Yosemite Sam

Bam, bam your body drop

Van Damme, karate chop

The Beretta's a better competitor

Pop pop turn your sweater to a crop top

Killin' you and whoever in that drop top

Etcetera, etcetera and it will not stop

Just shoot, shoot like doot doot

And beaucoup, beaucoup, I'm cuckoo

I'm a star goin' to war with you clones like Count Dooku

I'm worlds apart from you rappers

Like I walk in the booth rockin' a biosuit made of plastic

And NASA's galactic elastic travelin' through space, interstellar rapping

Broadcastin' from uninhibited planets

When I come back, that's it

You see a flash in the sky, it's that nigga, I

When I land, you wack niggas die

And your casket is your last hit

You wack bitch, fuckin' bastard

Back to the hand clappin'

You die quicker than Darren Wilson walkin' through Ferguson

Dressed like the grand dragon of the Klan

Passin' niggas with pants saggin'

With their hand on a black Magnum

To clap him backwards

So their last words is kcuf meth nmad saggin

That's backwards for fuck them damn niggas

Buck them damn triggers

Charge us, bodies fill up them damn Rivers

Cause everybody wanna be the best rapper alive

But I only like dead rappers

Compare me to the best rappers who died

And you rappers I used to look up to

I gotta cancel you now

Like Simon Cowell, I can't let you ex factors survive

Nah, the time's right and they finally limelightin' the god of this rhyme writin'

My mic can only be likened to Poseidon's trident and Zeus' lightin' strike

And my metaphors are what Thor was to the Norse viking

I'm a born titan and at-point kill 'em like swordfightin'

I'm slicin' organs with songwritin', I dwarf giants

I hope I'm rubbin' you pussies wrong sort of like poor dykin'

I smoke philosophy, I snort science

That means I'm higher than higher learnin', look in my eyes

That's where the fire's burnin'

Try to deny music's messiah returnin'

You die and you fry in my iron furnace

I am on my get rich or die tryin' like when Em was signin' Curtis

Cause I am murderous

[Verse 2: Joe Budden]

(Joe Budden, Jersey City, New Jersey)

Now we can do this a couple of different ways, it really depends

Could give them classic NY jeans over the Timbs

Or I could spit about my car and how it sit on the rims

I could tell you why I'm hot and disappear like MIMS

But the bars there, put that on God, ask an atheist

And if I ain't the bomb at least I'm in the blast radius

I'm beating these kids' indictment, shit, I like the terror

APB on my actions, I'm in the viking era

Moment of truth, I give you facts right now

Fuck this cypher, my mind ain't on rap right now

So it's fuck metaphors and punches, all the witty shit

Got a missing uncle and another need a kidney flip

Face says I been stressed

I got an aunt getting her ass kicked by MS

Nigga, why am I here? For the look, for the promo

Shit that bothered from the start

Cause the cancer left his lungs and it's on my grandfather's heart

Yeah, but not the side that the beat is on

I'm supposed to put that to the side when the beat is on

I'm planning the funeral, I'm getting the hearse ready

These niggas only wanna ask me if the verse is ready

Not a how do I feel, not a how do I deal

If that's the life, nigga, then how is it real?

These last couple of days I've been speaking to my peers

Giving them cries for help, I guess they need to see the tears

But wait, wildest part of all of that is

They'll shoot a suicidal rapper right here on the bridge

But fuck it, gotta pardon 'em, shout out to my squad and 'em

House Gang, Shady, I'm gone, nigga, my job is done

[Verse 3: Yelawolf]

Yelawolf, Gadsden, Alabama

My name is Wayne, I'm from Alabama

Here's the back story

I just fell off the turnip truck with Ernest Tubb

I'm 33, I've got 3 kids and I just popped 3 pills

I don't know which one's which or what it's for

Safety ain't really a habit I've formed

I still smoke to the cigarette butt

I still drink till I end up being that klutz

Clumsy, self-destructive dummy

Stumbling over my words, mumbling

I'll probably do it tonight

Leave the bar, leave the car

And pass out like a fetus in a jar with my feet up to the stars

And dream about that light that leads up to the lord

I have nightmares about my momma getting beat up in the yard

Wake up feeling like half a human

Hit the studio and unleash this guilt and regret

For my lack of union between rap, you and the rock and roll community

For unity between country music and MCs, I'm claiming immunity

Still I'm working, sawing, milling this tree

Building this house exactly the way Charlemagne the god and Lord Jamar thought it would be

Wait a minute... the lord and the god hate me

Jesus Christ, I am the white devil!


I'm still working, sawing, milling this tree

Building this house exactly the way I thought it should be

Wanna take a tour? Let's see

I've got floor-to-ceiling windows and a cabin-style mansion

Books, bears, trucks, boats, tires, spares, four-wheelers

Three-wheelers, two-wheelers, a drug dealer on call

Plaques on the wall, racks on the wall for my guns on the wall

Lift kits, low riders, chop shops, hi tops, low tops, cowboy boots

Dixie flags, American flags, Slumerican tags on my Slumerican ass


I've got my name on the bathrobe, and the flame on the back porch is lit

Guess who's coming to dinner?

André 3000 and Hank the Third, go figure

I've got two stand-up jetskis, a top pedigree horse, just a pet to feed of course

Who rides a horse in Nashville? I might

I've got bicycles for the kids, tricycles for the babies

M-80s, bottle rockets, bottles in my pocket

Moonshine, gold watches, gold rings

All fake, no bling, don't hate, that's my thing

I've got new clothes, old clothes, vintage, tremendous, endless style

Goodwill loves me Mackle-more than you

I've got flat screen TVs, with skate videos on repeat

All the latest CDs, mp3s, and Beats by Dre

Thank you very much, Jimmy Iovine for the check

I've got a black woman fine as she can be

FeFe with a ring on her finger that could give sight to the blind

A 5, a 10, a couple hundreds layin' on the counter

I don't know where that came from

I got artwork from hard work, yardworkers for yard work

Don't look under the tarp, sir

I'm growin' weed for my mama there

I've got a paved driveway and photos in the hallway of me on my Harley

And I did it my way

See, hip hop is what you make of it

And I'm makin' a lot of it

See that's a quadruple entendre, Jay Z eat your heart out

[Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]

But these cyphers, I treat 'em like a war, don't want no mediators

Nah, this that grow up in the P's behavior, next door to the greasy neighbors

People thank you, I do this for all the mean creators

I was someone who never needed favors to get where I'm at

Now they deem me a savior

But to be honest I ain't feelin' like that, man I just really like rap

Y'all lucky, trust me

I'm opposite the hands of Sandusky

With the shit that my pen state, these rappers can't touch me

Ugly? Shit, you serious? I'm hideous

I was better than all you silly kids while trying to figure out who I really is

As a younger dude, life was somethin' rude

I barely made it to the first like a Cutler move

No rubber groove on my shoes had to fight, so suspensions

I had 3 in one week, yeah that was public school

Did I say 3 in 1? That's funny cause there's 4 of us in the Slaughter

That's a 3 and 1, I learned that in public school too

Like what's in between a 3 and 1 and House Gang, I spoke to all 3 on 1 call

Like I dropped 2 albums and #3 is 1 second from bein' done

Just need y'all 3 to send me 1 verse apiece

For this Heatmakerz beat and Brother's Keeper 1

Simple mathematics, I'm addin' up to all these rap addicts

I don't like to divide dough so I multiply flow

And subtract maggots

Like a brand new Craftmatic, boy I'm back at it

Smokin' these new boys like my last habit

Dabnabbit I tried to quit but everything I kick's like the last dragon

Hoes suckin' my drummer dick, they on my bandwagon

I just gotta laugh cause y'all pushin' a lot of swag

I'm pushin' this big ole Hearse, don't get body bagged

[Verse 5: Royce Da 5'9]

These new rappers be askin' me

Why I don't be hangin' out where they be hangin' out

I tell 'em, I say Lil nigga listen here

If I don't got no business there, I don't got no business there

See there's a difference here

You hustlin' so you can be seen

Nigga I'm grindin' so I can disappear

I don't do it like other rappers do

When it's on time, it's skull and bone signs at the stu

We got guns you only find on your cheat code screen

If you think I remind you of any of these niggas you wildin' out

Like Chico Bean

When there's drama I don't ask no questions, I just clap in that direction

I look at this gat like it's an actual accessory

I'm anti-social so relax when you step to me

Nigga I shoot the breeze with actual weaponry

Your lil' stare downs won't fare well

I got a pale conscience, I'm the grey area

Last person I had a bond with was a bail bondsman

Now imagine me hangin' with y'all and we rappin' on the same song

Nigga I'd rather juggle a couple of chainsaws

Or run through hell with a pair of gasoline Hanes on

I'm a star but not on some I wanna be a star kinda shit

The only celebrity that give a fuck less than me is Marshawn Lynch

Glock in the stash as a backup but the MAC'll burst

Cripple your style, your first born child'll come out

With a colostomy bag as the afterbirth

I don't give a fuck

Nigga I'll show up to Beyonce's show posin' as Jay Z

Stagger in your studio session with a bomb strapped to my chest

Lookin' like Omarion holdin' his baby

Jump in the 4 door Mercedes with a .44 listenin' to JoJo and K-Ci

Drinkin' and sniffin' enough blow that it got me thinkin' I can exchange sicknesses

Maybe, this ebola for rabies

That's it, just livin' the rapper life

Banana clip in the air, lookin' like it's 'bout to start singin' it's MAC tonight

MACs, I use this MAC as a component for thugs rollin' up

I got this MAC on and you better stay in that corner

Cause shit can turn into that song except I don't give a fuck what day it is

I'll have this club goin' up, fuck with me

Mack magnet, attractin' enormous green

Slap this clip in this gat then call this arm Christy Mack

Cause this bitch is that war machine

Life of a giant, but who needs size when you're wack and your team's soft

Drag your girl down this hill 'til she admits that it feels like she's jackin' the beanstalk

We both got marketing plans

Yours is to sell records and try to net more than you gross before

Mine is to punch you in your face if you ever disrespect me

And then go invest into a grocery store

Rolled up with the Smith & Wesson and drew on you like let's fight now

I do numbers, I turn you and your crew into two plumbers

Translation, get your shit together and pipe down

Fuck a mic, I don't write, I chew and spit

I'll shoot you and your sis if you insist

I got my eyes on the sparrow

Silencer's so big it look like I got Bobby Shmurda tied to the barrel

And he doin' this

[Verse 6: Eminem]

(My name is Marshall

I'm repping that motherfucking Motor City, bitch)

I just turned Slaughterhouse to a quintet

Began to trend-set, murdered a friend's pet

Made shit as ill as it can get went in depth

Like a fucking vignette and two bars skins wet

I'm already covered in sweat

And I wasn't even ready to come in yet

AHH, let me set this drink down

Beat up a gal, start beef with her pal

Probably be wild 'til I'm wrinkled and senile

And Rap God was a freestyle

Off the top of the dome piece while I was sleep on the couch

And I'm freestyling now

I need a towel, sweat leaks from my brow

It's burning my eyes, my cerebral is foul

Cause shit I'm thinking about should be illegal

I need my head banned like the guy who left Cleveland Ohio

And went to South Beach with his talents

Scream fuck you on the way out and wink with a smile

This whole game can eat a dick, I'm going back deep underground

But right now I'm back on that bullshit and you I'm singling out

Cause you're so fucking outdated you should mingle a while

What the fuck is this clusterfuck of busters

Bunch of Buster Douglas', motherfuckers is one hit wonders

One swing and you're crowned

Knocked one out the park, one catchy jingle and now

You think you fucking with me cause you sold like 300 thou

Bitch, I can jump without my feet ever leaving the ground

Reach up, swing from a cloud with 3 thousand people around

Evil and vile enough to leap in the crowd

And heave a child in a sink hole on Cinco De Mayo

When I'm sprinkled in pico de gallo

Mardi Gras beads in a towel

I just made that up

I don't know much Spanish, I'm not bilingual

But I'll show you a Mexican stand off

Between just these two amigos

Cause neither really wants to say what we're thinking out loud

But I sure as fuck think I know how read body English, no doubt

Cause we're trying to kill each other, but lyrically

The fuck is humility? What is a real emcee?

Royce, he came up in the shit with me

Never spit that hustler shit, it wasn't a fit for me

Let them adjust 'til they just get the gist of me

Just not giving a fuck and plus with the history

Of muscular distrophy, it wasn't a mystery

Why this middle finger was stuck in this upward positioning

So what in the fuck is a list to me?

I'm used to not being on it, I expect it out 'em

Heck wit' em, I get my respect without 'em

Ain't really been into diamonds since I put my first record out

But I could put a chain around my second album

And wear it as a neck medallion

Became a millionaire, went downhill from there

Became civil, office swivel chair, sterling silverware

Screaming life is still unfair til I get a real career

The fuck am I gonna do until then? This job is too fulfilling

Two ga-jillion pairs of super villain shoes to fill in

And a mood to kill till I plow my Coupe de Ville

Into some children at the food pavilion and Build-A-Bear

Warrior's mind, I’m pro-hydrocodone euphoria

In the Drug Emporium line, I'm soaring

I'm pouring Vicodin four at the time ignoring the warning signs on 'em fore I go four wheeler riding

Gory and violent and horrifying

You surely won't find no one more appalling

Than I am with this retaliatorial rhyming for Gloria Steinem

But I finger her like a witness, show me a line-up

I usually am abusive, but excuse me, ma'am

I guess I must've threw you for a loop like toucan Sam

When I said I could use the sample cause you's a tramp

But look how you react to this trigger like

When I call you a bigger dyke than the Hoover Dam

You playing right in Lex Luthor's hands

It's such a ruthless plan, might even lose a fan

But fuck it, Superman wouldn't change in a phone booth for Stan

I'm a brand new being like Grand Puba's band

Happy as Anderson Cooper having a tuba crammed

In his pooper with lubricant...wait, that's too... I can't

Since honesty is the best policy I'll give you the old college try

Try to acknowledge my mistakes, probably won't qualify

As a gentleman and a scholar, but it's time that I swallow pride

And say that I'm sorry, sorry that I can't apologize

I think of all them times I compromised my bottom lines

And thought of rhymes that sodomized your daughter's minds

Then I'm like dollar signs

But I may fight for gay rights especially if they dyke

It's more of a knockout than Janay Rice

Play nice, bitch, I punch Lana Del Rey right

In the face twice like Ray Rice in broad daylight

In plain sight of the elevator surveillance

Til her head is banged on the railing

Then celebrate with the Ravens

Never date an assailant that self-medicates with inhalants

I'd meditate, but I may need a better way to escape

The aggression, rage and the anger

Cause them restraints on the ankles

Heavyweights and an anchor with handcuffs in chains

This ain't enough to contain it

But I still get the same respect as Jay if I came on

Stage in a fucking negligee everyday and Liz Claiborne

Devastated from breakup with Kate Hudson

Wait slut, your friends, what are they gonna say

Cause makeup ain't gonna cover

That eye that's seven-eighths of the way shut

Peppersprayed with your face cut

Made my bank like a lay up

Off these effing skanks on the way up

Oh, bitch thinks she's heaven-sent

It's evident that she ain't never been with seven inches

Yes, I said seven, I measured it

Seven inches from the floor

While I'm standing on the fourth floor balcony

At the Sheradon when I'm stretching it

Bitch, I'm a pimp so a limp dick is all you'll ever get

So if she's hesitant to get the hint

I'll bet you that I get the message sent who she's messing with

Hella quick when I tell a chick not to ever use sex as a weapon

When I step in and beat the wretched wench with a crescent wrench

Existential detriments to a lesbian devil

In the unpleasant stench of an estrogen level

That separatists like a Chechnian rebel

Impressionist with a pencil

A pessimist, with his lips pressed against

The edge of this Red Bull

Pedal to the metal I'm rippin' this shit cause right away I'll give it to a bitch like a pedestrian, deadly as ever

You see what kind of effects she has on the opposite sex when I push her flexible little sexy ass through a plate of plexiglass

SHADYXV as perplexing as

The last fifteen years and I'm predicting my next relapse

When I spit these lyrics so don't look at me weird

When I start shifting gears and shit re-smears all over Britney Spears

And these little Disney queers

Who use chicks for beards?

Just made that up too...

Oh and the Shady 2.0

We wrote it in roman numerals like they do for the Super Bowls

Cause it's supposed to confuse you hoes

The flows lose you as usual, so juvenile

2 year old when I go to the studio

It's only music but don't be foolish though

You don't know me through it ho but you can blow me to it though

In my homie's Buick

Been known to lose it though so if I overdo it you drove me to it

When I step in the vocal booth like I'm supposed to do

And I murder you on a fuckin' track like Tony Stewart

In one take, if I fuck up and I don't redo it

You couldn't sound grown on a beat if you were moaning to it

The day I don't say fuck you all, you can throw me through it

Rootinest-tootinest, shootin' this from the hip

With the sentiments, Eminem isn't penning them for the women

I'm an enemy to them and the epitome of an inconsiderate idiot

But they consider me equivalent to chlamydia

They tryna get rid of me gadzooks

But I stiggity stand for the fliggity flag

Of the United States and the freedom, I distribute these raps through

And if I catch you doing anything

Hindering or prohibiting that after I give me that

Tattoo of your lips on my ass I'mma be literally

Pickin' up and deliberately whippin' the Statue of Liberty at you WOOOOH!

Fuck it

Got it somewhere in there probably

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