[Intro]
What?
Did I hurt your feelings?
Uh, I'm 'posed to be scared now, right?
Yo, I'd like to dedicate this record right here
To Mr. Marshall Mathers' mother
Yeah
This one for your moms
[Verse]
Here come the mighty, one they call Whitey
All you sons of Whitey are all dickbiters
So won't that bitch Slim Shady please act up?
Get smacked up, get your eyes blacked up
With your candy-ass name, you're a candy-ass rapper
I'll smack you up, shut you off like The Clapper
Whoever said you was raw, son, they lied
I know that shit I spit on Dilated hurt your pride
Screamin' on a record how you wish I died
But you don't wanna see me on this physical side
You just a fake tough guy, tryna act hard
But won't walk a lobby without your bodyguard
You ain't pullin' my card, you ain't ridin' the train
Back in the day, kids like you got robbed for they chain
Step to me like a man, with the hands, get slain
Matter of fact, when you see me, bitch, gimme some brain
Yo, it's like that, we could fight, Jack
Let's put the mics down, you'll catch a beatdown
I get love in New York, got fam in L.A.
And I heard you might be the MC that's gay
With your platinum blonde Caesar, you look like a ho
Like M&M stand for Marilyn Monroe
Talkin' 'bout killin' sprees, you ain't like that, yo
Makin' lots of enemies, but that's all for show
You punk ecstasy junkie, you waste of skills
Stop ridin' my dilz, stay high on pills
Boy, I hope you O.D., don't be playin' with me
Little bitch, need to watch what you sayin' to me
Talkin' shit for shock value, boy, you ain't real
Turned hard the day Dre gave you a record deal
You went and sold your soul for some mass appeal
Servin' up that hors d'oeuvre, kid, now eat this meal
Instead of worryin' 'bout who you should be dissin'
Need to worry 'bout who your wifey been kissin'
Or if you go to prison, while you doin' your bid
I'll look in on your lady and do things for your kid
Make her write you lots of letters 'bout the things that we did
Send you pictures of me chillin' all up in your crib
And that shit about Sway and Tech, that was a fib
First time you met me, I showed you love in D.C.
But you were scared like a pussy, with your eyes on the floor
While your crew showed me love outside the front door
Talkin' 'bout "Yo, whassup, ain't you Whitey Ford?
I love that song 'What It's Like' and jam 'Praise The Lord'"
I don't do this for the money, yo, I do it for fun
You might hang around some gangstas, but you ain't one
And you won't be slappin' me with no empty gun
Talkin' 'bout a "fag," but you the one in drag
And you can't keep your woman from goin' astray
Better run and check your kid for your DNA
I take care of my moms, you get sued by yours
With your corny metaphors 'bout drugs and crack whores
You're a sucker
[Outro]
Word up, for real
You wanna talk some shit, money? Come talk it with the hands, B
I ain't wastin' no more time with you, man, fuck that shit, that's it
That's it
