Eminem - Untitled

Nah, man, not quite finished yet
Haha, woo!

Girl, I think you just might've tried
To pull a motherfuckin’ fast one, I’m mad
You just hurt my goddamn feeling and that was the last one I had
Does this look like an arcade?
Tryna play games? See this saw blade?
See this silhouette of a stalker in your walkway?
Better cooperate or get sauteed
And rotisseried while you’re hog-tied
MC’s get so quiet
You can hear a motherfuckin' dog whistle when I walk by
Colt Seavers on a mule, stuntin' on that ass like the fuckin’ Fall Guy
I don’t gas my Mercedes after midnight, I treat it like a Mogwai
'Cause it will turn into a Gremlin
And run over kids, women, and men, vrin vrin!
Motor so big, you can fit a midget in his engine
Bitch, give me them digits, why you cringin’?
Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin
Will I spend-spend even ten cents on you, since when
Do you think it’s gonna cost me a pretty penny?
Shit, if I think a penny’s pretty
Just imagine how beautiful a quarter is to me
Eenie-meenie-miney-mo
Catch an Eskimo by his toe while he’s tryin' to roll a snowball
But don’t make him lose his cool
If he hollers, better let him go, y’all

'Cause (You don't own me)
Now here we go, go, go

Get up, baby, get a move on like a U-Haul
You can rack your brain like pool balls
You won't ever think of this shit, yeah, honey, you called?
Well, here I come, Havoc on the beat, I wreak it
Evil, I see, hear, and speak it
Lady, put your money on Shady, fuck that other weak shit
Put your eggs in the same basket
You can count every motherfuckin’ chicken 'fore it hatches
'Cause you can bet your ass that we gonna get it crackin’
Like the Kraken and Titans when they're clashin'
Get your brains bashed in
So bad, you’re gonna have Kurt Cobain askin’
To autograph a bloodstained napkin
Unfashionable, and 'bout as rational as a rash on a fag’s asshole
Now let’s take that line, run it up the flagpole
With Elton, see if he’s cool with it
Don’t stand there and look stupid at me
Bitch, I ain’t in the mood for this shit
Get my dick, Google it 'til it pops up
Y’all are so motherfuckin’ full of shit that you stopped up
Me, I’m always shittin' diarrhea of the mouth
'Til your speakers crap out pft, huh, what?
Girl, you got a hot butt
Like a lit cigarette (chig-chigga-ret-ret)
But you won’t get a hot fudge sundae from me
So do not strut my way, slut, because–

(You don't own me)
Now here we go, go, go

And now that I got your panties in a bunch
And your bowels in an uproar
I'ma show you why I came, so you stop askin' me what the fuck for
Now look you little slut, cunt, whore, I know you want more
Bitch, it’s time to put the math back into Mathers
'Cause I’m a fuckin’ problem, run, boy!
Every flow, got it mastered
So every last word that you fuckin’ fags heard
Comes straight from the fish's ass
Yeah, in other words, I’m a bass-turd
Lookin' at me like I killed Kenny, gas in the tank, yeah, still plenty
No morals are instilled in me, so remorse, I really don’t feel any
Eat your heart out, Hannibal, understandable why you're jealous
Fuck an animal, I got cannibal magnetism
Can't resist him now, can you, ho?
“Shady, I don’t understand your flow”
Understand my flow? Bitch, I flow like Troy Polamalu’s hair, boy
Don’t you dare try to follow or compare, boy
I’m raw, you ain’t even medium-rare
Stay the fuck outta my hair, boy
You can look, you can stare, and point
But you can’t touch, I’m too clairvoyant
I don’t get it, man, is there a void?
All this weak shit, what am I, steroids?
Well, bitch, I’m back with some shit for that ass
And your trunk, elephant hemorrhoids
And remember, boys–

(You don't own me)
Now here we go, go, go

Thank you for coming out
Hope you enjoyed the show
'Til next time
Haha, peace

Writers: Marshall Mathers, Kejuan Waliek Muchita, Michael Lewis Crawford, John Madara, David Ernest White

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics licensed by LyricFind