About Eminem: Marshall Bruce Mathers III (born October 17, 1972), known professionally as Eminem (/ˌɛmɪˈnɛm/; often stylized as EMINƎM), is an American rapper, songwriter, record producer, record executive, and actor. He is consistently cited as one of the greatest and most influential artists of all time in any genre, with Rolling Stone ranking him 83rd on its list of the 100 Greatest Artists of All Time and labelling him the “King of Hip Hop”.
Featured Singers: RBX, Eminem, Sticky Fingaz
Remember me? Seven executions
Remember me? I have no remorse
Remember me? I’m high-powered
Remember me? I drop bombs, like Hiroshima
For this one, they scream “X, you retarded?!”
‘Cause I grab the mic and get down like syndrome
Hide and roam into the masses
Without boundaries, which qualifies me
For the term “universal” without no rehearsal
I leak words that’s controversial
Like I’m not the one you wanna contest, see
‘Cause I’ll hit your ass like the train did that bitch
That got banned from TV, heavyweight getup
Hit you, watch your whole head split up
Loco is the motion, we comin’ through
Hollow-tips is the lead the .45 threw
Remember me? Throw ya gunz in the air!
Remember me? Slam! Slam!
Remember me? Nigga, bacdafucup!
Remember me? Chka-chka-Onyx!
Niggas that take no for an answer get told no
Yeah, I been told no, but it was more like “No! No! No!”
Life’s a bitch, met her, f*ck you if you let her
Better come better than better to be a competitor
This vet is ahead of the shit, it’s all redder, you deader and deader
A medic instead of the cheddars and credda
Settle vendetta with metal Beretta from ghetto to ghetto
Evidence, nope, never leave a shred of
I got the soul of every rapper in me, love me or hate me
My moms got raped by the industry and made me
I’m the illest nigga ever, I told you
I get more pussy than them dyke bitches Total
Want beef, nigga? Pbbt, you better dead that shit
My name should be Can’t-Believe-That-Nigga-Said-That-Shit
Probably sayin’ he ain’t a killer, but I’m killin’ myself
Smoke death, f*ck bitches raw on the kitchen floor
So think what I’ma do to you, have done to you
Got niggas in my hood who’d do that shit for a blunt or two
What you wanna do? Cocksuckers, we Glock busters
‘Til the cops cuff us, we’ll start ruckus and drop blockbusters
Round the clock hustlers, you cannot touch us
I’m gettin’ wires, niggas wantin’ me dead
Wantin’ my head, you think it could be somethin’ I said?
Remember me? I just don’t give a f*ck!
Remember me? Yeah, f*ck you too!
Remember me? I’m low down and I’m shifty!
Remember me? I’m Shady!
When I go out, I’ma go out shootin’
I don’t mean when I die, I mean when I go out to the club, stupid!
I’m tryin’ to clean up my f*ckin’ image
So I promised the f*ckin’ critics
I wouldn’t say “f*ckin'” for six minutes
Six minutes, Slim Shady, you’re on!
My baby’s mom, bitch made me an angry blonde
So I made me a song, killed her and put Hailie on
I may be wrong, I keep thinkin’ these crazy thoughts
In my cranium, but I’m stuck with a crazy mom
Is she really on as much dope as you say she’s on?
Came home and somebody musta broke in the back window
And stole two loaded machine guns and both of my trenchcoats
Sick, sick dreams of picnic scenes
Two kids, sixteen, with M-16’s and ten clips each
And them shits reach through six kids each
And Slim gets blamed in Bill Clint’s speech to fix these streets?!
F*ck that! Pbbt, you faggots can vanish to volcanic ash
And reappear in hell with a can of gas and a match!
Aftermath, Dre, grab the gat! Show ’em where it’s at!
(What the f*ck you starin’ at, nigga?!)
Don’t you remember me?
Remember me? Remember me?
Remember me? (Slim Shady!)