Bang

by Eminem

Marshall Bruce Mathers III (born October 17, 1972), known professionally as Eminem (/ˌɛmɪˈnɛm/; often stylized as EMINƎM), is an American rapper, songwriter, record producer, record executive, and actor. He is consistently cited as one of the greatest and most influential artists of all time in any…




Yeah (brr)
Uh
(Brr, brr, brr)
(Brr, brr, brr)
Machine
(Brr)
It's not a game, nigga (brr, brr)
It's not a fuckin' game, nigga (brr, brr, brr)
Look, look

Ayo, I use the Arm & Hammer just to fluff my brick
Say what I wanna say, and I don't give a fuck, I'm rich (ah)
Tuck my fifth, don't hesitate to bust my shit
I tell you niggas like Kyrie, "Suck my dick" (haha)
I don't trust a soul, I don't even trust my bitch (uh-uh)
Before I fall in love, I'd rather cut my wrist (ah)
I sweat Ace of Spades, nigga, that's how much I sip
Body a rap nigga quick before the Dutch got twist
(Ayo, let's roll somethin')
Yeah, the shotty ring, this shit is not a thing (uh-huh)
Chopper make your body lean, my niggas body things (brr)
Uh, I'm with the jackboys, I'm with the robbin' team (uh-huh)
On my mama, I never rocked a pair of Robin jeans (hahaha)
Everything I jot is mean, how you gon' stop Machine?
My name, it probably ring like Las Vegas slot machines
The MAC by my pelvis in my Helmut Lang (uh-huh)
The shells'll bang, make everything outta your helmet hang (boom boom)
Uh, the mayo jar was Hellmann's when I swirled the 'caine
Then I wrapped the yayo up in cellophane (woo)
My shooter got Dame Lillard from the elbow aim
I thought of that while I was courtside at the Melo game (ah)
Bricks are off-white, I imported some (uh-huh)
Whippin' all night until the mornin' come (all night, nigga)
Still pitchin' long nights until my fortune come
That's big checks on the side like the Off-White Jordan 1s, uh

Ayo, they think this shit a game, nigga (this shit a game, nigga)
Ayo, they think this shit a game (this shit a game) (oh word?)
Ayo, they think this shit a game
Until I pull up, let it ring, nigga (let it ring, nigga)
Until I pull up, let it ring (let it ring)
Until I pull up, let it ring
Ayo, they think this shit a game, nigga (this shit a game, nigga)
Ayo, they think this shit a game (this shit a game, huh?)
Ayo, they think this shit a game
Until I pull up, let it bang, nigga (let it bang, nigga)
Until I pull up, let it bang (let it bang) (boom, boom, boom)
Until I pull up, let it (boom)

I used to be a man of the people
Hit the clubs and mingle (what up?)
Used to dream one day I'd be fuckin' pink like a flamingo (pink)
That was back when I smoked Canibus
Man, but it was tough, 'cause I was a fan of his
So it sucked to hand him his ass, but
Yeah, lookin' back on my feuds
How me and Ja Rule almost got cool
'Cause we shot pool back in '01
Was it '02? I don't know, but
Something told me fuckin' not to
Then we got stuck in high school, I shoved an Oscar up his wazoo
Yeah, but I think of the rappers I slayed and buried like every night
And every career I might've killed, sometimes I say a prayer and I
Wonder is there a heaven for a G? And if so, is the sanctuary nice?
Studios for rap like Coolio, shootin' craps at gangster's paradise
Huh, here a mic, there a mic
Everywhere a mic, share and share alike
But just don't compare alike
Instead of comparin' me, pick a fair fight
Compare me to lightnin', that similarity's strikin'
Compare me to Jaws
Compare me to Manson, Marilyn or Charles
Compare me to Nas, Biggie, or Pac
Do not compare me to that Iggy bitch
Or all this fuckin' Milli Vanilli hip-hop
This is where all that silly shit stops
Compare me to the pistol that triggered this thought
The semi, the Glock, 9 millis get cocked, I'm sending a shot
Don't come around with them floss raps tryna stunt
Compare me to Meek, big wheelies get popped
One by one, compare 'em to scabs, I'm picking them off
They're going home to fuck Nicki Minaj, aw
Compare me to Diggity-Das, yah
I'm hickity-hitting it raw, ha
In the trailer park (haha)
Told her I'd play the part like Kanan Stark's
Ate her twat like a Tater Tot, oh shit
Get the strap like a trainin' bra
Lunchtime like at eight-o'clock
But Shady's not for the faint of heart
Goin' at these pricks like Lorena Bobbitt
Y'all want drama, we can make a scary movie like Marlon Wayans
Y'all lookin' at the charred remains of Charlamagne tha God
Slim whip, Westside, and Conway are not playin'
I cock back, aim, and I spray you like (boom)

Written by: Marshall Mathers, Demond Price

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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