Eminem – Session One

Intro: Eminem:
Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise!
Aw, shit! Yeah
You ready to get this shit started or what?
A’ight, well I brought some friends with me too

Verse 1: Eminem:
Now I ain’t back just for the sake of just saying I’m back
I could relax but I’d rather stack ammo on tracks
Couple Xanax, light a couple wax candles then black
Out and relapse ’til I yack Jack Daniels and ‘gnac
Burp bubbles, attitude’s immaturin’
Double shot of Bacardi, party, vision is blurrin’
Whoa-oh, I can’t see shit, my words get to slurrin’
Uh-oh! You can call me R. Kelly now, you’re in trouble!
What’s occurring befo’, after, and during the show
Has no bearing on the bad news I’m bearing, whoa
What is it, wordplay? No, I’m pushing you out the do’
So suck my dick on the couch if you wanna cushion the blow
Now stomp your fucking feet ’til you get to squishing a ho
It’s pandemonium, standing o when you see him, oh
Damn baby you look good, you’re giving me wood
You should pull over like a sweatshirt with a hood
It’s neck work, get her polly on, you and me both
Break bread while I’m copping over this game to pinch a loaf
Now, homie, who’s your favorite pain in the ass?
Who claims to be spitting the same flames as me? I’m Kanye when he crashed
In other words, I got the hood on smash like I stepped on the gas
Destroyed the front end, deployed the damn airbags from the dash
Went through ’em and laughed, came back an hour after the accident
And bit a Goddamn Jawbreaker in half!
So stop faking the funk and start shaking your ass
Slaughterhouse in the house with the Caucasian of rap
And Just Blaze on the track, what’s the fuck’s more amazing than that?
Slut, answer me that, Royce where you at?

Verse 2: Royce da 5’9”:
I’m right here Fire Marshall, verbal pair of pliers I pry apart you
Lump on your head designed by a bar stool
Designed by a cartoon
Before I need to be hired, Jimmy I’ll fire Marshall
The 9 tucked against the lining
I pull it out and flip your partner upside-down like y’all are a couple 69ing
It’s like Rick James is shooting up your house, nigga!
Fuck yo’ couch, nigga!
You’re screaming, “Fuck the world!” with your middle finger up
While I’m over here shoving my dick in a hole in the mud
My bitch know I’m perfectly fit for murder
Because I murdered her, so you can call me Nickel to O.J. to Glove
I got a Posse of Insane Clowns
Blow your brains on your opposite ear and ask you how your brain sounds
Bad, Evil, we go Alfred E. Neumann mad cerebral
You on your last burrito!
(What that mean Nickel?) It’s a wrap if you eating
Get a beat then terrorize that bitch like I’m Middle Eastern
Slaughterhouse on fire, nobody touching that
Good day and good night, Ortiz, yo, where the fuck you at?

Verse 3: Joell Ortiz:
I’m right here in my Nike Airs, Buzz Light-years
Ahead of my mic peers, quite scary to look at, a nightmare
Where my book at? I write fear in the heart of you tight squares
I harbor the art of my nice wear
It’s type weird ’cause that made me hotter than my dear
Uncle Al’s breath after polishing off his ninth beer
Homie, chill, listen, I swear
I’m god, I give tracks a Holy-feel, and they bite ears
I’m right here, why wouldn’t I be? Just waiting to be hooked to IV
As Mumm-Ra’s well, when you look at my pee
And this joint (No exception), so just point (A direction)
And record the pig’s oink (When I rip his intestines)
This isn’t just an infection
This won’t go away with penicillin injections
Millions of questions arose after they did an inspection, what I exhibit
Seems to be non-contagious yet anybody can get it
Aw shiddit, I did it again, when I liddift this pen
I emitted this phlegm, this time it’s alongside Edimminem
So tell a friend to tell a friend write a disgusting hook
Jump in shark water and swim, yo where the fuck is Crook?

Verse 4: Crooked I:
I’m right here letting the shotty pop, quick as a karate chop
Get your body shot, get your top chopped, like a lollipop
Call it Maserati drop, in the body shop
Get your mommy knocked and your Uncle Tommy molli-wopped
I take your life to the ninth inning
A knife in the gunfight, I love it, me and my knife winning
I laugh when you fall, the shit’ll be funny
I’ll buy my bitch a new ass and watch her sit on my money
Man, all the bitches holla – they wanna drop my britches
Then jaw on my dick and swallow, leave drawers in this Impala
I ball like Iguodala, I bear more arms than six koalas
As soon as I draw, get sent to Allah
Bilinguist don, I kill with the tongue, I’m Atilla the Hun
I’m Genghis Khan, I’m a genius spawn
I pillage your village for fun, an egregious con
A syllable gun, real as they come, Long Beach Saddam!
Slaughterhouse equals swine flu, are South flying
We do it to try to do without tryin’
(Slaughterhouse!) ‘Cause to it’s us it’s so easy
Where’s Jumpoff Joe Beezy?

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