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letra de whether or not - eminem

[hook: eminem]
whether you rap or you don’t rap
duck ‘fore you get rushed
get stuck f-cking with us
’cause….
we don’t give a f-ck

[verse 1: kon artis]
oh, we sound like em clones, huh?
where the f-ck you think he started at holmes, huh?
skip the small talk, talking is a risk you take
kick yo’ face ’till yo’ head go through this window and break
break to the 1-9, denaun cause the gun-line
and collect bank from every weed spot like i’m one time
i’m ain’t the remorseful type, i’ll drink and still drive pr-ne to hit anything at any given night
f-ck leaving my roots, i’m still in cahoots with nincomp–ps who shoot out like troops in beirut
pull up in a red he-rs- with fred durst dressed like a nurse
with a coach purse screaming he’s [?]

[verse 2: bizarre]
on my harley davidson, i ride down main street
i speed with my dad’s name on my -ss cheek
gimme your ones and get robbed with a broken gun
got you doing more dances than puffy’s son
all you groupies that wanna get took
you gotta be 12 years old with a coloring book
and anyone else who wanna get f-cked, ’cause
(yeah b-tch, oh sh-t!)

[hook: eminem]
whether you rap or you don’t rap
duck ‘fore you get rushed
get stuck f-cking with us
’cause….
we don’t give a f-ck

[verse 3: eminem]
we interrupt your little world of perfectness
to bring you the sh-t to murder conservatives with
to curse and diss, with verses so merciless
these words can just f-ck up your high worse than this
{police sirens}
i’ve k!lled for less, and dumped bodies in the motherf-ckin’ wilderness
i’m a wildebeest, and i’ve concealed a piece even after i was busted by warren police
you think just because i got caught by these cops once
i’m not gonna carry shotguns to blow your wigs back like hamburgers without any top buns
so many d-mn murders i can’t even count one
two black guns, i don’t know maybe they’re magnums
i don’t know what the f-ck they’re called, i just grab them
12-gauge dumps in a drug-fueled rage, f-ck age, still goin’ through my “f-ck-you” stage
i’m a 27-year-old eleven-year-old, i’mma never grow up, b-tch, i ain’t gon’ ever get old
i’ll be sitting here with a cane and a beard
still insane and as weird as the day i came in here, brain in my rear, yeah
so until i’m wrinkled as robert van winkle, i’mma drop a d-mn single every godd-mn week, people
it’s d12, june 19th, so do like me, and go buy three, with no id
kids

[verse 4: proof]
now why you wanna play a game with me, dangerously
the outcome’s hot, once split your brain in three
proof with crooked raps, always ask them “what the f-ck you lookin’ at”?
and invite the hook to scr-p
i gave my life to god, n-gga, then i took it back
took it black, this f-ckin’ gat will leave your cookie cracked
detroit’s derelict arrogant terrorist, straight on you aerospit
spit at various people, to leave you [?] bl–dy ’till you’re buried with
every hit was serious, n-ggas wanna know how murderous the dirty harry is
when i’m on your front porch with guns about to bust
’cause

[hook: eminem]
whether you rap or you don’t rap
duck ‘fore you get rushed
get stuck f-cking with us
’cause….
we don’t give a f-ck

[verse 5: swift]
when they run into swift they change directions
my sh-t so tight when hoes hear it they catch a yeast infection
you need protection, you gon’ fear it
i sn-tch away yo’ dna from existence, with no spirit
give up the carats or see the nine
f-ckin’ with mine is like farakhan chewin’ up swine, on christmas
with a white trailer b-tch on his arm, chillin’ in europe, havin dinner with a uncle tom
i attack k!llin’, f-ckin’ hoes like matt dillon
stackin’ obituaries higher than michael jackson’s ceiling
i leaves n0body livin’, i got satan shiverin’
hate what i’m deliverin’, you know the best then send ’em in, crack you with a fifth of gin
you got your men, but they all wearin’ skirts like them n-ggas from scotland, you hoes are not grim
don’t make me stop in with a mag, and blow yo feet up out yo top tens

[verse 6: kuniva]
i’m the one they call in to torture ya
smackin’ your b-tch and forcin’ her in the back seat of an old corcia
kuniva’s the silent type, but under the silence is a violent life, usually followed by sirens and lights
get your throat cut by this tyrant’s knife, from high as a kite
and my get-a-way driver’s drivin’ right
f-ckin’ with hans will get you flipped like a baton, the deadliest bombs
wrap around n-ggas like camabons, you know i ain’t nothin’ to play with
thinkin’ you real like the matrix, f-ckin’ with n-ggas drippin’ off self-hatred
i’m on some live sh-t, rappers be on some “ready to die” sh-t
’till i put a ice pick, right through they eyelids, f-ck heaters, i’ll knock you out instead of shootin’
i hit hard, break yo’ f-ckin’ jaw like resolution
give up the cash and coat, or get your little brother’s cl-ssroom smoked
and the subst-tue gagged and choked
n-gga

[hook: eminem]
whether you rap or you don’t rap
duck ‘fore you get rushed
get stuck f-cking with us
’cause….
we don’t give a f-ck

[outro]
d12, june 19th
do ‘shrooms like me
get ready for it.
trouble soon, baby
you know it
tell your mama and your sister too
’cause we f-ckin’ ’em

- eminem

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