Yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah, yeah

(What's your name?) Marshall

(Who's your daddy?) I don't have one

My mother reproduced like a komodo dragon

And had me on the back of a motorcycle

Then crashed in the side of loco-motive with rap

I'm loco

It's like handing a psycho a loaded handgun

Michelangelo with a paint gun

In a tantrum

Bout to explode all over the canvas

Back with the Yoda of rap in a spasm

Your music usually has them

But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't

Follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan

A Jedi in training, colossal brain

And, thoughts are entertainin'

But docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain and

Probably find a way to complain

About a Picasso painting

Puke Skywalker, but sound like

Chewbacca when I talk

Full of such blind rage I need a seein' eye dog

Can't even find the page

I was writing this rhyme on

Oh it's on a rampage, couldn't see

What I wrote I write small

It says ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with white walls

Had a fire in my heart

And a dire desire to aspire, to Die Hard

So as long as I'm on the clock

Punching this time card

Hip-hop ain't dying on my watch

But sometimes, when I'm sleepin'

She comes to me in my dreams

Is she taken, is she mine?

Don't got time, don't care, don't have two shits to give

Let me take you by the hand to, promise land

And threaten everyone

'Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing

(What's your name?) Marshall

(Who's your daddy?) I don't know him, but I wonder

(Is he rich like me?) Ha

(Has he taken, any time

To show you what you need to live?)

No, if he had, he wouldn't have ended up

In these rhymes on my pad

I wouldn't be so mad, my attitude wouldn't be so bad

Yeah Dad

I'm the epitome and the prime example of what happens

When the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong hands

And makes you want to get up

And start dancin', even if it is Charles Manson

Who just happens, to be rapping, blue lights flashing

Laughing all the way to the bank

Lamping in my K-Mart mansion

I'm in the style department

With a pile in my cart, ripping the aisle apart with

Great power comes absolutely no responsibility, for content

Completely, despondent and condescending

The king of nonsense

And controversy is on a, beat killing spree

Your honor, I must plead guilty

'Cause I sparked a, revolution, rebel without a cause

Who caused the evolution of rap

To take it to the next level, boost it

But several rebuked it, and whoever produced it

(Hip-hop is the devil's music) Is that me

It belongs to me?

Cause I just happen to be

A White honky devil with two horns

That don't honk but every time I speak you, hear a beep

But lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisper

Rappers better stay clear of me, bitch, cause it's the

It's the time of the season, when hate runs high

And this time, give it to you easy

When I take back what's mine with pleasured hands

And torture everyone, that is my plan

My job here isn't done

Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing

(What's your name?) Shady

(Who's your daddy?) I don't give a fuck, but I wonder

(Is he rich like me?) Doubt it, ha

(Has he taken, any time, to show you what you need to live?)

So yeah, Dad let's walk, let's have us a father and son talk

But I bet we probably wouldn't get one block

Without me knockin' your block off

This is all your fault

Maybe that's why I'm so bananas

I appeal to all those walks of life

Whoever had strife

Maybe that's what dad and son talks are like

Cause I, related to the struggles of young America

When their fucking parents were unaware of their troubles

Now they're ripping out their fucking hair again

It's hysterical

I chuckle, 'cause everybody

Bloodies their bare knuckles, yeah uh-oh

Better beware knuckleheads

The sign of my hustle says don't knock

The doors broken, it won't lock

It might just fly open, get cold cocked

You critics come to pay me a visit

Misery loves company, please stay a minute

Kryptonite to a hypocrite

Zip your lip if you dish it but can't take it

Too busy getting stoned in your glass house to kick rocks

Then you wonder why I lash out

Mister Mathers as advertised on the flyers

So spread the word

'Cause I'm promoting my passion til I'm passed out

Completely brain dead Rainman

Going a bankhead in a restraint chair

So bitch, if you shoot me a look it better be a blank stare

Or get shanked in the pancreas

I'm angrier than all eight other reindeer

Put together with Chief Keef

Cause I hate every fucking thing, yeah

Even this rhyme, bitch

And quit tryna look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't there

But I still am a CRIMINAL

Ten-year-old degenerate grabbing on my GENITALS

The last Mathers LP that went diamond

This time I'm predicting this one will go EMERALD

When will the madness end

How can it when there's no method to the pad and pen

The only message that I have to send is

Dad, I'm back at it again, yeah