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      The Ringer

      The Ringer

      Eminem

      Escuchar lo mejor de la musica de Eminem

      Eminem - The Ringer Música y Letra

      Yeah, yo I'm just gonna write down my first thoughts 
      And see where this takes me, 
      'Cause I feel like I wanna punch the world in the fuckin' face right now
      Yeah, let me explain just how to make greatness
      Straight out the gate, I'm 'bout to break you down
      Ain't no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake I'm 'bout
      To rape the alphabet, I may raise some brows
      If I press the issue just to get the anger out (brrr)
      Full magazine could take Staples out
      Savage, but ain't thinking 'bout no bank account
      But bitch I'm off the chain like Taylor Brown
      Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I'm talkin', lil' bitch
      I'm sorry, wait, what's your talent? Oh, critiquin'
      My talent? Oh, bitch, I don't know who the fuck y'all are
      To give a sub-par bar, even have an opinion of you
      You mention me, millions of views, attention in news
      I mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for you
      Billions of views, your ten cents are two
      Skim through the music to give shit reviews
      To get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuse
      Don't get misconstrued, business as us'
      Shit-list renewed so get shit to do
      Or get dissed 'cause 
      I just don't get what the fuck half the shit is that you're listening to
      Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow
      Everyone copies though? Probably no
      Get this fuckin' audio out my Audi yo, adios
      I can see why people like Lil' Yachty, but not me though
      Not even dissin', it just ain't for me
      All I am simply is just an emcee
      Maybe "Stan" just isn't your cup of tea
      Maybe your cup's full of syrup and lean
      Maybe I need to stir up shit
      Preferably shake the world up if it were up to me
      Paul wants me to chill, y'all want me to ill
      I should eat a pill, probably I will
      Old me kill the new me, watch him bleed to death
      I breathe on the mirror, I don't see my breath
      Possibly I'm dead, I must be possessed
      Like an evil spell, I'm E-V-I-L (evil, but spelled)
      Jam a Crest white strip in the tip of my dick with an ice pick
      Stick it in a vice grip, hang it on a spike fence
      Bang it with a pipe wrench
      While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch
      Like vice-president Mike Pence
      Back up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike strip
      These are things that I'd rather do than hear you on a mic
      Since nine-tenths of your rhyme is about ice and
      Jesus Christ man, how many times is someone gonna fuck on my bitch? 
      (Fuck my side chick!)
      You won't ever see Em icy, but as cold as I get on the M-I-C
      I polarize shit so the Thames might freeze
      And your skull might split like I bashed you upside it
      Bitch I got the club on smash like a nightstick (yeah)
      Turn down for what? I ain't loud enough
      Nah, turn the Valium up!
      'Cause I don't know how I'm gonna get your mouths to shut
      Now when it doesn't matter what caliber I spit at
      I'll bet a hundred thousand bucks
      You'll just turn around and just be like, "Man, how the fuck
      Sourpuss gonna get mad just 'cause his album sucks
      And now he wants to take it out on us?" (Ooh-ooh)
      But last week, an ex-fan mailed me a copy
      Of The Mathers LP to tell me to study
      It'll help me get back to myself and she'll love me (ooh-ooh)
      I mailed the bitch back and said if I did that
      I'd just be like everyone else in the fucking industry
      Especially an effing Recovery clone of me
      So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Iggy 'Zae
      Lil' Pump, Lil' Xan imitate Lil' Wayne
      I should aim at everybody in the game, pick a name
      I'm fed up with being humble
      And rumor is I'm hungry, I'm sure you heard bumblings
      I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach
      I heard your mumblin' but it's jumbled in mumbo-jumbo
      The era that I'm from will pummel you
      That's what it's comin' to
      What the fuck are you gonna do? Where you runnin' to?
      I'm gonna crumble you and I'll take a number two
      And dump on you if you ain't Joyner
      If you ain't Kendrick or Cole or Sean then you're a goner
      I'm 'bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it
      I guess when you walk into BK you expect a Whopper
      You can order a quarter pounder when you go to McDonald's
      But if you're lookin' to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival
      But y'all are acting like I tried to serve you up a slider
      Maybe the vocals should have been auto-tuned
      And you would have bought it
      But sayin' I no longer got it
      'Cause you missed the line and never caught it
      'Cause it went over your head, because you're too stupid to get it
      'Cause you're mentally retarded but pretend to be the smartest
      With your expertise and knowledge, but you'll never be an artist
      And I'm harder on myself than you could ever be regardless
      What I'll never be is flawless, all I'll ever be is honest
      Even when I'm gone they're gonna say I brought it
      Even when I hit my forties like a fuckin' alcoholic
      With a bottle full of malt liquor
      But I couldn't bottle this shit any longer
      The fact that I know that I'ma hit my bottom
      If I don't pull myself from the jaws of defeat and rise to my feet
      I don't see why y'all even started with me
      I get impeached, my enemies die
      I don't ceasefire 'til at least all are deceased
      I'm eastside, never be caught slippin'
      Now you see why I don't sleep
      Not even a wink, I don't blink
      I don't doze off, I don't even nod to the beats
      I don't even close my fuckin' eyes when I sneeze
      "Aw, man! That BET cypher was weak, it was garbage
      The Thing ain't even orange—oh my God, that's a reach!"
      Shout to all my colorblind people, each and every one of y'all
      If you call a fire engine green, aquamarine
      Or you think water is pink
      "Dawg, that's a date, " "Looks like an olive to me."
      "Look, there's an apple!" "No it's not, it's a peach!"
      So finger-bang, Pootie Tang, Burger King, Gucci Gang, Mookie, dang
      Charlamagne gonna hate anyway
      Doesn't matter what I say
      Give me Donkey of the Day
      What a way for 2018 to get underway
      But I'm gonna say everything that I wanna say
      Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch (yeah)
      Invite them in like a one a day
      I'm not done (preach)
      'Cause I feel like the beast of burden
      That line in the sand, was it even worth it?
      'Cause the way I see people turnin'
      Is makin' it seem worthless
      It's startin' to defeat the purpose
      I'm watchin' my fan base shrink to thirds
      And I was just trying to do the right thing, but word
      Has the court of public opinion reached a verdict
      Or still yet to be determined?
      'Cause I'm determined to be me, critique the worship
      But if I could go back I'd at least reword it
      And say I empathize with the people this evil serpent
      Sold the dream to that he's deserted
      But I think it's workin'
      These verses are makin' him a wee bit nervous
      And he's too scurred to answer me with words
      'Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered
      But I know at least he's heard it
      'Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service
      To meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin' him
      Or ask if I'm linked to terrorists
      I said, "Only when it comes to ink and lyricists"
      But my beef is more media journalists
      (Hold up, hold up, hold up)
      I said my beef is more meaty, a journalist
      Can get a mouthful of flesh
      And yes, I mean eating a penis
      'Cause they been pannin' my album to death
      So I been givin' the media fingers
      Don't wanna turn this to a counselling sesh
      But they been puttin' me through the ringer
      So I ain't ironin' shit out with the press
      But I just took this beat to the cleaners

      Eminem - The Ringer Música y Letra

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