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letra de the backroom freestyle - eminem

(feat. slaughterhouse)

yo, t
what?
get in the backroom
and speak the truth to the young youth!

hey,’ don’t leave home without your cars
but this is hip hop, so don’t leave home without your b-lls
and for some of these rap start, that’s just too bad
you can’t bring out the b-lls that you ain’t never had!
it’s eminem, it’s slaughterhouse,
yeah, you know we’re the truth
and the game and all the audiences, we close the booth!
yes, indeed, original, speak the replacement cause
the back room will never be what the bas-m-nt was!

yeah, i’m the realest mother– that i know
wasn’t always the case, guess you figured i had to grow
i do it for the love, i don’t do it for the dough
but i know these sucker figures well, so they keep me on my toes.
what that is i couldn’t tell you what i’m hated for
and the painkillers didn’t murder pain, they gave me more!
these friends on my head, now they say they want to hold you
i grew up mature, you all could see that this an old joke!
want to see me lose every battle with depression
no matter what it do to me, no matter my regression
they want to see me fall, want to ruin my regiment from the start
want to cut the beat off soon as i let ’em in my heart!
i’d be the first to admit it, lost focus for a while
sending unsolicited b-tch.. to’ sh-t
was so high i lost track of my ways
then i fell in love with a baby and got mad at her age
the way she act and behave, was it an act or a phase?
how you trife when i gave you life, you was lacking in wage!
you don’t want say hi or speak to me,
bet you making 200 dollars by weekly
try to help the world out, bring some reparation
and forget being humble in a state of desperation
ain’t gotta ask what to help with no hesitation
and for me to deal with it i might need some meditation!
i love you but its best we stay apart, segregation
and to cope with the feeling i might need some medication.
trust me i don’t never want to see that side of joe
it would kill us all slow,
one reason i’m the realest mother-mother i know!

hey, hey!
ya, it’s nickle, riding round in that maserati four seat
symbol on the grill looking like tony stark’s gold teeth
best rapper alive and you know me
the most distinguished shooter
that’s coming up out of the d since joe d.
i take mines at lead point
at the risk of having to shave my garlic clove
in a razor inside a fed joint, uh
hip hop is alive, but the rhymes died
only fear i have is hear world star being yelled from my blind side.
don’t get me wrong it ain’t like i ain’t never lost a fight
but these days i’m more like a lyrical artist.
i’m outlining everybody in chalk white
the off-beat deceased version of dr. narcisse
the same blueprint, your idolizing
you’re trying to jump fast, that’s foolish
if you’re my drunk past and handing me my pilot’s license.
that’s plain stupid, your boys a star
sitting in that drop top fish bowl and the doors ajar
its ironic i remember when i couldn’t afford a car
and now it’s back and forth,
the black one or white one i call ’em macklemore
and lord jamar, first we defying the odds
we not a group, we more like a circular firing squad!
this not a booth, this is our house and we won’t stop
we killed the ‘ two times already
what you gonna give us an award?
but we won’t stop for shutting down the internet
now tell your momma how i tell rihanna, ‘we ain’t finished yet!’

yo, yo
when we step in that booth, that’s when the flame enters
best spit, make any set trip, yeah its the gang members
waving that shady flag, navy jag, matching the’ fit,
with the polo brief showing due to the lazy sag.
i’m in a crazy kind of place
i got this thing right on my waist
that’ll leave tears on your baby momma’s face, so chill!
i’m in a crazy kind of place, i got this thing below my waist
that’ll leave kids on your baby momma’s face for real!
the flow gets cracked, as it came in capsules
your cap just started snapping
my starter caps was snapping when cross color was cracking
and my cane was half full.
with the half moon park, hope you rap dudes smart
don’t p-ss me off like the bathroom mop
you don’t want it with me!
if i’m throwing hooks at you, that don’t mean the chorus for free.
so save your jabs its way better
if i start throwing jabs,
i’m talking zabs first three round against may weather
yeah i’m a crook from the brook that mastered how’
shook turned notebook, broke cook, i’m so dope look
bring the beat back with no hook just bars
just a thing of ours that make their pants drop,
make ’em open up their bras, move g strings like guitars,
that’s nothing, that’s something light like wrestling at the bar!
y.a.o.w.a, if y’all ain’t saying yaowa by now you got nothing to say
this like nwo vs nwa,
y’all like the rockers verse the roc full of nothing but j-s!
check the rocks its nothing for gazing
but don’t get stupid, my ‘ clique will throw shots for a couple of days
make it h-rny when we out,
‘horror, y’all don’t want it with the house!

yo, yo, slaughter season, y’all the reason
real dudes i’m bringing some mo in,
like a polynesian
sick with the llama squeezing,
bullets flew and the chopper sneezing.
got your body and legs torn, but before you was airborne
you was bob and weaving
still getting hit till your no’s is ‘
they set you deep in your coffin sleeping
i’m gone off the deep end,
i’m a wolf, this industry my sheep skin.
i’m out here hunting with my ink pen,
i’m living like a kingpin!
doing it for my g’s in the pen,
dreaming about two-piecing a police chief’s chin
you rappers something candy coated, i don’t like suckers
i’m iron mike, i don’t like busters
you looking for ’em fly dudes like orville and wilbur
you got the right brothers, no bright jeans, no bright colors, no!
i’m the second coming, the one that pac predicted
islamic gnostic and christian, the flow so godly you got to listen!
i back you in i dodge ’em in it
like mc8 in a l.a. hat
these rappers straight trying dodge a menace.
i’m looking at your videos, look like your watching tennis
brothers dressed like maria sharapova wearing yoga pants
meanwhile big poppa was rocking linens.
i guess that era’s over man, hold on!
i’m splitting atoms when the scientific spitting is getting at ’em
i give ’em different patterns,
they didn’t phantom, they’re stealing my styles!
before me you didn’t have ’em
you rappers made in my image like when god was inventing adam.
stab ’em in the abdomen when its crunch time
i truly flip like may weather p-ssed of at a movie script.
too many punch lines!
family i’m amongst mine!
i keep the peace like a monks mind
‘ your favorite barber
leave you in an old bush like an unshaven barbara.
don’t stop what we doing,
when you see l.a. your team will be ruined!
this game need a new villain,
i’m the kind to murder you on vine
uh, kill ’em!

ladies and gentleman, now introducing
the man beneath the legend
mr. marshall man, aka, slim shady!

yo! role model?
i’ll roll a model down a hill over broke bottles of c-ke products
if she don’t swallow, and’ till the b-mper hit the throttle
while i’m trying hit the pot holes,
i’ll freaking take madonna to mcdonalds!
any’ end up horizontal getting fondle,
i don’t cuddle, i don’t coddle!
only motto that i follow
is any thing i drive, whether its a navajo or a tahoe
it’s got a ho in it, nah ho,
i don’t got no freaking bronco!
you looking for a buck, get a horse, ‘
i got a rusty hondo with some bondo,
and a box of condoms you little blond ‘
f-ck me? f-ck you too!
like i’m at bonnaroo booing bono
and i ain’t from this planet so ‘
i’m intolerable, too volatile,
screw it! i don’t got too make honor roll
to be on a roll, i don’t know much,
what i do know i do it pr-nto, though!
so knock it off, all these knock off me’s,
the last thing the world needs is another me,
but if you think this is part two
to recovery or love the way you lie part twelve
or something heart felt, you bout to make a discovery,
like you found christopher columbus’ comp-ss
and dumb it down for you dumb f-cks, so suck it
i took your best punch line like a punch in the stomach
that punctured a lung punk and i’m still functioning from it
chump it was nothing, now watch while i f-cking one up it and toot my own h-rn
once i think its something to trump it
and i don’t need a f-cking instrument to sound off,
like the trunk of an elephant to triumphant
return of the ether spitting r-t-rd, reborn,
but chances of you having another re-birth, slim to none
like a skinny mother theresa,
give a f-ck if its easter,
so kiss my ‘
cause that’s the only thing ill turn the other cheek for!

- eminem

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