Marshall Mathers
 作词 : Bass, Bass, Mathers

You know, I just don't get it
Last year I was nobody
This year I'm sellin' records
Now everybody wants to come around like I owe' em somethin
The f**k you want from me, ten million dollars?
Get the f**k outta here
You see, I'm just Marshall Mathers (Marshall  Mathers)
I'm just a regular guy
I don't know why all the fuss about me (fuss about me)
Nobody ever gave a f**k before
All they did was doubt me (did was doubt me)
Now everybody wanna run they mouth
And try to take shots at me (take shots at me)
Yo you might see me joggin', you might see me walkin'
You might see me walkin' a dead Rottweiler dog
With it's head chopped off in the park with a spiked collar
Hollerin' at him 'cause the son of a b***h won't quit barkin'
Or leanin' out a window, with a cocked shotgun
Drivin' up the block in the car that they shot 'Pac in
Lookin for Big's killers, dressin' ridiculous
Blue and red, like I don't see what the big deal is
Double barrel 12-gauge bigger than Chris Wallace
Pissed off 'cause Biggie and Pac just missed all this
Watchin' all these cheap imitations get rich off 'em
And get dollars that shoulda been theirs like they switched wallets
And amidst all this Crist' poppin' and wristwatches
I just sit back and just watch and just get nauseous
And walk around with an empty bottle of Remy Martin
Startin' shit like some twenty-six-year-old skinny Cartman (Goddamn it!)
An anti-Backstreet and Ricky Martin
Whose instinct's to kill *NSYNC, don't get me started
These f**kin' brats can't sing and Britney's garbage
What's this b***h, retarded? Give me back my sixteen dollars!
All I see is sissies in magazines smilin'
Whatever happened to wilin' out and being violent?
Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin'
And gettin' your shoes, coat and your hat tooken?
New Kids on the Block suck a lot of d**k
Boy, girl groups make me sick
And I can't wait 'til I catch all you fa***ts in public
I'ma love it
Vanilla Ice don't like me (Uh-uh)
He said some s**t in Vibe to spite me (yup)
Then went and dyed his hair just like me
A bunch of little kids wanna swear just like me
And run around screamin' "I don't care, just bite me!" (nah  nah)
I think I was put here to annoy the world
And destroy your little four-year-old boy or girl
Plus I was put here to put fear in faggots who spray Faygo Root Beer
And call themselves clowns 'cause they look queer
Faggy 2 Dope and Silent Gay
Claimin' Detroit, when y'all live twenty miles away (F**kin' punks)
And I don't wrestle, I'll knock you f**kin' faggots the **** out
Ask 'em about the club they was at when they snuck out
After they ducked out the back when they saw us and bugged out
Ducked down and got paintballs shot at they truck — blaow!
Look at y'all runnin' your mouth again
When you ain't seen a f**kin' mile road south of 10
And I don't need help from D12 to beat up two females
In make-up who may try to scratch me with Lee Nails
"Slim Anus"? You damn right, slim anus
I don't get f**ked in mine like you two little flamin' faggots
Chorus ×2
'Cause I'm just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
I'm not a wrestler guy
I'll knock you out if you talk about me
Come and see me on the streets alone
If you assholes doubt me (Assholes doubt me)
And if you wanna run your mouth
Then come take your best shot at me (Best shot at me)
Is it because you love me that y'all expect so much of me?
You little groupie b***h, get off me, go f**k Puffy
Now because of this blonde mop that's on top
Of this f**ked up head that I've got, I've gone pop?
The underground just spunned around and did a 360
Now these kids diss me and act like some big sissies
"Oh, he just did some s**t with Missy
So now he thinks he's too big to do some s**t with MC Get-Bizzy"
My f**kin' b***h mom's suin' for ten-million
She must want a dollar for every pill I've been stealin'
S**t, where the f**k you think I picked up the habit?
All I had to do was go in her room and lift up her mattress
Which is it, b***h: Mrs. Briggs or Ms. Mathers?
It doesn't matter, [your attorney Fred Gibson’s a] faggot
Talkin' about I fabricated my past
He's just aggravated I won't ejaculate in his ass (Uhh!)
So tell me, what the hell is a fella to do?
For every million I make, another relative sues
Family fightin' and fussin' over who wants to invite me to supper
All of a sudden I got ninety-some cousins (Hey  it's  me!)
A half-brother and sister who never seen me
Or even bothered to call me until they saw me on TV
Now everybody's so happy and proud
I'm finally allowed to step foot in my girlfriend's house (Hey-hey!)
And then to top it off I walked to the newsstand
To buy this cheap-ass little magazine with a food stamp
Skipped to the last page, flipped right fast
And what do I see? A picture of my big white ass
Okay, let me give you motherf**kers some help:
Uh, here, "XXL! XXL!"
Now your magazine shouldn't have so much trouble to sell
Aw, f**k it, I'll even buy a couple myself
Chorus ×2