[Intro]
Yeah, I can't stop now
This may be the last chance I get to be famous
(I just wanna be famous)

 [bad word] 
You dream of tradin' places, I have been changin' faces
You can not fill these shoes, there is too much too lose
I wake up behind these trenches, [bad word] around defenseless
There is too much too lose, you can not fill these shoes

(I just wanna be famous, but) be careful what you wish for

[Verse One]
I stuck my d**k in this game like a rapist, they call me Slim Roethlisberger
I go berserker than a fed-up post-office worker
marker with a Mossberg I'm p**sed off, get murdered
Like someone took a ketchup squirter, squirted a frankfurter

For a gangsta ya sure did sh** your pants, when you saw
That chainsaw get to wavin' like a terrible towel, how thangs turn around
But his [bad word] out, get your brains blown out
That's what I call blowin' your mind when I [bad word] back

Like nut on your spine, I'm the thumb tack that you slept on son
Now here [bad word] screamin' "tac!" like I just stepped on one
Low on the totem 'til he showed 'em, defiance, giant [bad word] 
He don't owe them b**ches sh** his britches he out growed 'em

He's so out cold he's knocked out at the South Pole
And nobody f**ks with him, rigor mortis and post mortem
He's dyin' of boredom, take your best rhymes record 'em
To try and thwart him, he'll just take your punchlines and snort 'em

Sh** stained drawers, you gon' f**k with a guy who licks
The blades of his chainsaws, while he dips 'em in PF Chang sauce
Games off homie, hang it up like some crank calls
You think I'm backin' down you must be outta your dang skulls, I'm almost famous

 [bad word] 

[Verse Two]
I'm back for revenge, I lost the battle that ain't happenin' again
I'm at your throat like strep I step, strapped with a pen
Metaphors wrote on my hand, some are just stored in my mem-
-ory, some are wrote on a napkin, I do what I have to win

Pullin' out all stops, any who touch a mic prior's
Not even Austin Powers, how the f**k are they Mike Meyers
And tell that psycho to pass the torch to the wacko 'fore
I take a sh** in his jack-o-lantern and smash it on his porch

Now get off my d**k, d**k's too short of a word for my d**k
Get off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick
Don't call me the champ, call me the space shuttle destroyer
I just blew up the Challenger, matter fact I need a lawyer

I just laced my gloves with enough plasta to make a cast 
Beat his a** naked and peed in his corner like Vern Troyer
Y'all are Eminem backwards, you're mini-me's, see he's
In a whole 'nother weight class, his slugs your BB's

Your bean bag bullets, you're full of it, you were dissin' his CD's
Laughed at Infinite, now he's back like someone p**sed in his Wheaties
No peace treaties, he's turned into a beast, his new Slim Shady EP's
Got the attention of the mighty D-R-E, he's almost famous

 [bad word] 

[Verse Three]
Now there he goes in Dre's studio cuppin' his balls
Screamin' the wood off the panellin', cussin' the paint off the walls
Spewin' his hate to these haters, showin' no love for these broads
He ain't givin' 'em sh**, he says he'll pinch a penny so hard

He'll leave a [bad word] on the bronze so dark you can see the mark
When it scars, 'til Abraham Lincoln is screamin' out "aww"
His metaphors and similes ain't similar to them not at all
If they don't like it, they can all get f**ked instead of s**kin' him off