feat. Eminem, Slaughterhouse & YelawolfSkip to: KXNG CROOKED | Joe Budden | Yelawolf | Joell Ortiz | Royce Da 5'9" | Eminem[Directed by Syndrome][Verse 1: KXNG CROOKED]My name is KXNG CROOKED, I snap on you rappers oftenWhen I'm spazzin' I'm just gettin' my passionate point acrossLike a hood cat clappin' his hands when he's talkin'Now that I got your attention, I feel I should really mentionDon't come around here flossin', Big Willies, we really lynch 'emPull out the chopper, rappers hittin' the groundLike every bar is a bullet, when I pull it, it sound likeB-b-b-b-b a couple of bullets are comin' your way then it jamLike god damnThen I pick up somethin' quicker, start killin' everything in the vicinityThe proximity, the Glocksimity, we on Yosemite SamBam, bam your body dropVan Damme, karate chopThe Beretta's a better competitorPop pop turn your sweater to a crop topKillin' you and whoever in that drop topEtcetera, etcetera and it will not stopJust shoot, shoot like doot dootAnd beaucoup, beaucoup, I'm cuckooI'm a star goin' to war with you clones like Count DookuI'm worlds apart from you rappersLike I walk in the booth rockin' a biosuit made of plasticAnd NASA's galactic elastic travelin' through space, interstellar rappingBroadcastin' from uninhibited planetsWhen I come back, that's itYou see a flash in the sky, it's that nigga, IWhen I land, you wack niggas dieAnd your casket is your last hitYou wack bitch, fuckin' bastardBack to the hand clappin'You die quicker than Darren Wilson walkin' through FergusonDressed like the grand dragon of the KlanPassin' niggas with pants saggin'With their hand on a black MagnumTo clap him backwardsSo their last words is "kcuf meth nmad saggin"That's backwards for "fuck them damn niggas"Buck them damn triggersCharge us, bodies fill up them damn RiversCause everybody wanna be the best rapper aliveBut I only like dead rappersCompare me to the best rappers who diedAnd you rappers I used to look up toI gotta cancel you nowLike Simon Cowell, I can't let you ex factors surviveNah, 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' strikeAnd my metaphors are what Thor was to the Norse vikingI'm a born titan and at-point kill 'em like swordfightin'I'm slicin' organs with songwritin', I dwarf giantsI hope I'm rubbin' you pussies wrong sort of like poor dykin'I smoke philosophy, I snort scienceThat means I'm higher than higher learnin', look in my eyesThat's where the fire's burnin'Try to deny music's messiah returnin'You die and you fry in my iron furnaceI am on my get rich or die tryin' like when Em was signin' CurtisCause 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 dependsCould give them classic NY jeans over the TimbsOr I could spit about my car and how it sit on the rimsI could tell you why I'm hot and disappear like MIMSBut the bars there, put that on God, ask an atheistAnd if I ain't the bomb at least I'm in the blast radiusI'm beating these kids' indictment, shit, I like the terrorAPB on my actions, I'm in the viking eraMoment of truth, I give you facts right nowFuck this cypher, my mind ain't on rap right nowSo it's fuck metaphors and punches, all the witty shitGot a missing uncle and another need a kidney flipFace says I been stressedI got an aunt getting her ass kicked by MSNigga, why am I here? For the look, for the promoShit that bothered from the startCause the cancer left his lungs and it's on my grandfather's heartYeah, but not the side that the beat is onI'm supposed to put that to the side when the beat is onI'm planning the funeral, I'm getting the hearse readyThese niggas only wanna ask me if the verse is readyNot a how do I feel, not a how do I dealIf that's the life, nigga, then how is it real?These last couple of days I've been speaking to my peersGiving them cries for help, I guess they need to see the tearsBut wait, wildest part of all of that isThey'll shoot a suicidal rapper right here on the bridgeBut fuck it, gotta pardon 'em, shout out to my squad and 'emHouse Gang, Shady, I'm gone, nigga, my job is done[Verse 3: Yelawolf]Yelawolf, Gadsden, AlabamaMy name is Wayne, I'm from AlabamaHere's the back storyI just fell off the turnip truck with Ernest TubbI'm 33, I've got 3 kids and I just popped 3 pillsI don't know which one's which or what it's forSafety ain't really a habit I've formedI still smoke to the cigarette buttI still drink till I end up being that klutzClumsy, self-destructive dummyStumbling over my words, mumblingI'll probably do it tonightLeave the bar, leave the carAnd pass out like a fetus in a jar with my feet up to the starsAnd dream about that light that leads up to the lordI have nightmares about my momma getting beat up in the yardWake up feeling like half a humanHit the studio and unleash this guilt and regretFor my lack of union between rap, you and the rock and roll communityFor unity between country music and MCs, I'm claiming immunityStill I'm working, sawing, milling this treeBuilding this house exactly the way Charlemagne the god and Lord Jamar thought it would beWait a minute... the lord and the god hate meJesus Christ, I am the white devil!Nah...I'm still working, sawing, milling this treeBuilding this house exactly the way I thought it should beWanna take a tour? Let's seeI've got floor-to-ceiling windows and a cabin-style mansionBooks, bears, trucks, boats, tires, spares, four-wheelersThree-wheelers, two-wheelers, a drug dealer on callPlaques on the wall, racks on the wall for my guns on the wallLift kits, low riders, chop shops, hi tops, low tops, cowboy bootsDixie flags, American flags, Slumerican tags on my Slumerican assCEOI've got my name on the bathrobe, and the flame on the back porch is litGuess who's coming to dinner?André 3000 and Hank the Third, go figureI've got two stand-up jetskis, a top pedigree horse, just a pet to feed of courseWho rides a horse in Nashville? I mightI've got bicycles for the kids, tricycles for the babiesM-80s, bottle rockets, bottles in my pocketMoonshine, gold watches, gold ringsAll fake, no bling, don't hate, that's my thingI've got new clothes, old clothes, vintage, tremendous, endless styleGoodwill loves me Mackle-more than youI've got flat screen TVs, with skate videos on repeatAll the latest CDs, mp3s, and Beats by DreThank you very much, Jimmy Iovine for the checkI've got a black woman fine as she can beFeFe with a ring on her finger that could give sight to the blindA 5, a 10, a couple hundreds layin' on the counterI don't know where that came fromI got artwork from hard work, yardworkers for yard workDon't look under the tarp, sirI'm growin' weed for my mama thereI've got a paved driveway and photos in the hallway of me on my HarleyAnd I did it my waySee, hip hop is what you make of itAnd I'm makin' a lot of itSee 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 mediatorsNah, this that grow up in the P's behavior, next door to the greasy neighborsPeople thank you, I do this for all the mean creatorsI was someone who never needed favors to get where I'm atNow they deem me a saviorBut to be honest I ain't feelin' like that, man I just really like rapY'all lucky, trust meI'm opposite the hands of SanduskyWith the shit that my pen state, these rappers can't touch meUgly? Shit, you serious? I'm hideousI was better than all you silly kids while trying to figure out who I really isAs a younger dude, life was somethin' rudeI barely made it to the first like a Cutler moveNo rubber groove on my shoes had to fight, so suspensionsI had 3 in one week, yeah that was public schoolDid I say 3 in 1? That's funny cause there's 4 of us in the SlaughterThat's a 3 and 1, I learned that in public school tooLike what's in between a 3 and 1 and House Gang, I spoke to all 3 on 1 callLike I dropped 2 albums and #3 is 1 second from bein' doneJust need y'all 3 to send me 1 verse apieceFor this Heatmakerz beat and Brother's Keeper 1Simple mathematics, I'm addin' up to all these rap addictsI don't like to divide dough so I multiply flowAnd subtract maggotsLike a brand new Craftmatic, boy I'm back at itSmokin' these new boys like my last habitDabnabbit I tried to quit but everything I kick's like the last dragonHoes suckin' my drummer dick, they on my bandwagonI just gotta laugh cause y'all pushin' a lot of swagI'm pushin' this big ole Hearse, don't get body bagged[Verse 5: Royce Da 5'9"]These new rappers be askin' meWhy I don't be hangin' out where they be hangin' outI tell 'em, I say "Lil nigga listen here"If I don't got no business there, I don't got no business thereSee there's a difference hereYou hustlin' so you can be seenNigga I'm grindin' so I can disappearI don't do it like other rappers doWhen it's on time, it's skull and bone signs at the stuWe got guns you only find on your cheat code screenIf you think I remind you of any of these niggas you wildin' outLike Chico BeanWhen there's drama I don't ask no questions, I just clap in that directionI look at this gat like it's an actual accessoryI'm anti-social so relax when you step to meNigga I shoot the breeze with actual weaponryYour lil' stare downs won't fare wellI got a pale conscience, I'm the grey areaLast person I had a bond with was a bail bondsmanNow imagine me hangin' with y'all and we rappin' on the same songNigga I'd rather juggle a couple of chainsawsOr run through hell with a pair of gasoline Hanes onI'm a star but not on some I wanna be a star kinda shitThe only celebrity that give a fuck less than me is Marshawn LynchGlock in the stash as a backup but the MAC'll burstCripple your style, your first born child'll come outWith a colostomy bag as the afterbirthI don't give a fuckNigga I'll show up to Beyonce's show posin' as Jay ZStagger in your studio session with a bomb strapped to my chestLookin' like Omarion holdin' his babyJump in the 4 door Mercedes with a .44 listenin' to JoJo and K-CiDrinkin' and sniffin' enough blow that it got me thinkin' I can exchange sicknessesMaybe, this ebola for rabiesThat's it, just livin' the rapper lifeBanana clip in the air, lookin' like it's 'bout to start singin' it's MAC tonightMACs, I use this MAC as a component for thugs rollin' upI got this MAC on and you better stay in that cornerCause shit can turn into that song except I don't give a fuck what day it isI'll have this club goin' up, fuck with meMack magnet, attractin' enormous greenSlap this clip in this gat then call this arm Christy MackCause this bitch is that war machineLife of a giant, but who needs size when you're wack and your team's softDrag your girl down this hill 'til she admits that it feels like she's jackin' the beanstalkWe both got marketing plansYours is to sell records and try to net more than you gross beforeMine is to punch you in your face if you ever disrespect meAnd then go invest into a grocery storeRolled up with the Smith & Wesson and drew on you like let's fight nowI do numbers, I turn you and your crew into two plumbersTranslation, get your shit together and pipe downFuck a mic, I don't write, I chew and spitI'll shoot you and your sis if you insistI got my eyes on the sparrowSilencer's so big it look like I got Bobby Shmurda tied to the barrelAnd he doin' this[Verse 6: Eminem](My name is MarshallI'm repping that motherfucking Motor City, bitch)I just turned Slaughterhouse to a quintetBegan to trend-set, murdered a friend's petMade shit as ill as it can get went in depthLike a fucking vignette and two bars skins wetI'm already covered in sweatAnd I wasn't even ready to come in yetAHH, let me set this drink downBeat up a gal, start beef with her palProbably be wild 'til I'm wrinkled and senileAnd "Rap God" was a freestyleOff the top of the dome piece while I was sleep on the couchAnd I'm freestyling nowI need a towel, sweat leaks from my browIt's burning my eyes, my cerebral is foulCause shit I'm thinking about should be illegalI need my head banned like the guy who left Cleveland OhioAnd went to South Beach with his talentsScream "fuck you" on the way out and wink with a smileThis whole game can eat a dick, I'm going back deep undergroundBut right now I'm back on that bullshit and you I'm singling outCause you're so fucking outdated you should mingle a whileWhat the fuck is this clusterfuck of bustersBunch of Buster Douglas', motherfuckers is one hit wondersOne swing and you're crownedKnocked one out the park, one catchy jingle and nowYou think you fucking with me cause you sold like 300 thouBitch, I can jump without my feet ever leaving the groundReach up, swing from a cloud with 3 thousand people aroundEvil and vile enough to leap in the crowdAnd heave a child in a sink hole on Cinco De MayoWhen I'm sprinkled in pico de galloMardi Gras beads in a towelI just made that upI don't know much Spanish, I'm not bilingualBut I'll show you a Mexican stand offBetween just these two amigosCause neither really wants to say what we're thinking out loudBut I sure as fuck think I know how read body English, no doubtCause we're trying to kill each other, but lyricallyThe fuck is humility? What is a real emcee?Royce, he came up in the shit with meNever spit that hustler shit, it wasn't a fit for meLet them adjust 'til they just get the gist of meJust not giving a fuck and plus with the historyOf muscular distrophy, it wasn't a mysteryWhy this middle finger was stuck in this upward positioningSo what in the fuck is a list to me?I'm used to not being on it, I expect it out 'emHeck wit' em, I get my respect without 'emAin't really been into diamonds since I put my first record outBut I could put a chain around my second albumAnd wear it as a neck medallionBecame a millionaire, went downhill from thereBecame civil, office swivel chair, sterling silverwareScreaming life is still unfair til I get a real careerThe fuck am I gonna do until then? This job is too fulfillingTwo ga-jillion pairs of super villain shoes to fill inAnd a mood to kill till I plow my Coupe de VilleInto some children at the food pavilion and Build-A-BearWarrior's mind, I’m pro-hydrocodone euphoriaIn the Drug Emporium line, I'm soaringI'm pouring Vicodin four at the time ignoring the warning signs on 'em fore I go four wheeler ridingGory and violent and horrifyingYou surely won't find no one more appallingThan I am with this retaliatorial rhyming for Gloria SteinemBut I finger her like a witness, show me a line-upI usually am abusive, but excuse me, ma'amI guess I must've threw you for a loop like toucan SamWhen I said I could use the sample cause you's a trampBut look how you react to this trigger likeWhen I call you a bigger dyke than the Hoover DamYou playing right in Lex Luthor's handsIt's such a ruthless plan, might even lose a fanBut fuck it, Superman wouldn't change in a phone booth for StanI'm a brand new being like Grand Puba's bandHappy as Anderson Cooper having a tuba crammedIn his pooper with lubricant...wait, that's too... I can'tSince honesty is the best policy I'll give you the old college tryTry to acknowledge my mistakes, probably won't qualifyAs a gentleman and a scholar, but it's time that I swallow prideAnd say that I'm sorry, sorry that I can't apologizeI think of all them times I compromised my bottom linesAnd thought of rhymes that sodomized your daughter's mindsThen I'm like dollar signsBut I may fight for gay rights especially if they dykeIt's more of a knockout than Janay RicePlay nice, bitch, I punch Lana Del Rey rightIn the face twice like Ray Rice in broad daylightIn plain sight of the elevator surveillanceTil her head is banged on the railingThen celebrate with the RavensNever date an assailant that self-medicates with inhalantsI'd meditate, but I may need a better way to escapeThe aggression, rage and the angerCause them restraints on the anklesHeavyweights and an anchor with handcuffs in chainsThis ain't enough to contain itBut I still get the same respect as Jay if I came onStage in a fucking negligee everyday and Liz ClaiborneDevastated from breakup with Kate HudsonWait slut, your friends, what are they gonna sayCause makeup ain't gonna coverThat eye that's seven-eighths of the way shutPeppersprayed with your face cutMade my bank like a lay upOff these effing skanks on the way upOh, bitch thinks she's heaven-sentIt's evident that she ain't never been with seven inchesYes, I said seven, I measured itSeven inches from the floorWhile I'm standing on the fourth floor balconyAt the Sheradon when I'm stretching itBitch, I'm a pimp so a limp dick is all you'll ever getSo if she's hesitant to get the hintI'll bet you that I get the message sent who she's messing withHella quick when I tell a chick not to ever use sex as a weaponWhen I step in and beat the wretched wench with a crescent wrenchExistential detriments to a lesbian devilIn the unpleasant stench of an estrogen levelThat separatists like a Chechnian rebelImpressionist with a pencilA pessimist, with his lips pressed againstThe edge of this Red BullPedal to the metal I'm rippin' this shit cause right away I'll give it to a bitch like a pedestrian, deadly as everYou see what kind of effects she has on the opposite sex when I push her flexible little sexy ass through a plate of plexiglassSHADYXV as perplexing asThe last fifteen years and I'm predicting my next relapseWhen I spit these lyrics so don't look at me weirdWhen I start shifting gears and shit re-smears all over Britney SpearsAnd these little Disney queersWho use chicks for beards?Just made that up too...Oh and the Shady 2.0We wrote it in roman numerals like they do for the Super BowlsCause it's supposed to confuse you hoesThe flows lose you as usual, so juvenile2 year old when I go to the studioIt's only music but don't be foolish thoughYou don't know me through it ho but you can blow me to it thoughIn my homie's BuickBeen known to lose it though so if I overdo it you drove me to itWhen I step in the vocal booth like I'm supposed to doAnd I murder you on a fuckin' track like Tony StewartIn one take, if I fuck up and I don't redo itYou couldn't sound grown on a beat if you were moaning to itThe day I don't say fuck you all, you can throw me through itRootinest-tootinest, shootin' this from the hipWith the sentiments, Eminem isn't penning them for the womenI'm an enemy to them and the epitome of an inconsiderate idiotBut they consider me equivalent to chlamydiaThey tryna get rid of me gadzooksBut I stiggity stand for the fliggity flagOf the United States and the freedom, I distribute these raps throughAnd if I catch you doing anythingHindering or prohibiting that after I give me thatTattoo of your lips on my ass I'mma be literallyPickin' up and deliberately whippin' the Statue of Liberty at you WOOOOH!Fuck itGot it somewhere in there probably
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