Текст песни Everlast - Whitey

Eat At Whitey's
Жанр: Hip-Hop / Blues Rock
Исполнитель: Everlast
Альбом: Eat At Whitey's
Длительность: 01:35
Рейтинг: 2651
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: sky-

Текст:

What? Did I hurt your feelings? Uh...I'm supposed to be scared now, right? Yo...I'd like to dedicate this record right here To Mr. Marshall Mathers' mother, yeah This one's for your moms Here come the mighty One they call Whitey All you sons of Whitey Are all dickbiters So won't the real 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 Dialated hurt your pride Screamin' on a record how you wish I died But you don't wanna see me on this physical side You're just a big tough guy, tryin' to act hard But you 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, and 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 and M stands 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 dill, stay high on pills Yo, I hope you OD, don't be playin' with me Little bitch need to watch what you're 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' about who you should be dissin' You need to worry about who your wifey been kissin' Or if you go to prison while you're doin' your bid I'll look in on your lady and do things for your kid Make her write you lots of letters about the things that we did And send you pictures of me chillin' all up in your crib That shit about Sway n' Tek? 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 that 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 a 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 about drugs and crack whores You're a sucker Word up, for real You wanna talk some shit money, come talkin' with the hands, B I ain't wastin' no more time with you, man, fuck that shit, that's it
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