[Intro: Sample + Eminem]
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Yeah, yeah
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Yeah, yeah yeah
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(“Whats your name?”) Marshall
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(“Whos your daddy?”) I dont have one
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[Verse 1]
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My mother reproduced like the komodo dragon
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And had me on the back of a motorcycle, then crashed in
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The side of loco-motive with rap, Im
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Loco, its like handing a psycho a loaded handgun
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Michelangelo with a paint gun in a tantrum
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‘Bout to explode all over the canvas
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Back with the Yoda of rap, “In a spasm
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Your music usually has em
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But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasnt
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Follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan.”
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A Jedi in training, colossal brain and
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Thoughts are entertainin
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But docile and impossible to explain and, Im also vain and
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Probably find a way to complain about a Picasso painting
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Puke Skywalker, but sound like Chewbacca when I talk
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Full of such blind rage, I need a seein eye dog
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Cant even find the page I was writing this rhyme on
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Oh, its on the ram-page
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Couldnt see what I wrote, I write small
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It says, “Ever since I drove a 79 Lincoln with whitewalls
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Had a fire in my heart
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And a dire desire to aspire to Die Hard.”
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So as long as Im on the clock, punching this time card
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Hip-hop aint dying on my watch
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[Chorus]
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Now sometimes when Im sleepin
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She comes to me in my dreams
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Is she taken? Is she mine?
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Dont got time, dont care, dont have two shits to give
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Let me take you by the hand to promised land
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And threaten everyone
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‘Cause theres no rhyme or no reason for nothing
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[Post-Chorus: Sample + Eminem]
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(“Now, whats your name?”) Marshall
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(“Whos your daddy?”) I don’t know him, but I wonder—
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(“Is he rich like me?”) Ha
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(“Has he taken any time to show you what you need to live?”)
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[Verse 2]
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No, if he had
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He wouldnt have ended up in these rhymes on my pad
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I wouldnt be so mad, my attitude wouldnt be so bad
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Yeah, Dad, Im the epitome and the prime
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Example of what happens when the power of the rhyme
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Falls into the wrong hands and
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Makes you want to get up and start dancin
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Even if it is Charles Manson
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Who just happens to be rappin, blue lights flashin
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Laughin all the way to the bank, lampin in my K-Mart mansion
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I’m in the style department
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With a pile in my cart, rippin the aisle apart but
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With great power comes
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Absolutely no responsibility for content
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Completely despondent and condescending
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The king of nonsense and controversy is on a
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Beat-killing spree, Your Honor
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I must plead guilty, cause I sparked a revolution
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Rebel without a cause who caused the evolution
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Of rap, to take it to the next level, boost it
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But several rebuked it, and whoever produced it
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(“Hip-hop is the Devils music”)
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Does that mean it belongs to me?
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‘Cause I just happen to be a white honky devil with two horns
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That dont honk but every time I speak you hear a beep
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But lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisper
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Rappers better stay clear of me, bitch, cause its the—
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[Chorus]
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Its the time of the season
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When hate runs high
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And this time, I wont give it to you easy
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When I take back whats mine
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With pleasured hands
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And torture everyone, that is my plan
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My job here isnt done
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‘Cause theres no rhyme or no reason for nothing
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[Post-Chorus: Sample + Eminem]
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(“Whats your name?”) Shady
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(“Whos your daddy?”) I don’t give a fuck, but I wonder
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(“Is he rich like me?”) Doubt it, ha
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(“Has he taken any time to show you what you need to live?”)
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[Verse 3]
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So, yeah, Dad, lets walk
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Lets have us a father-and-son talk
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But I bet we wouldnt probably get one block
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Without me knocking your block off, this is all your fault
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Maybe thats why Im so bananas I appealed to all those walks
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Of life, whoever had strife
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Maybe thats what dad and son talks are like
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‘Cause I related to the struggles of young America
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When their fucking parents were unaware of their troubles
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Now theyre rippin out their fuckin hair again, its hysterical
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I chuckle as everybody bloodies their bare knuckles
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Yeah, uh-oh, better beware, knuckle heads
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The sign of my hustle says:
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“Dont knock”, the doors broken, it wont lock
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It might just fly open, get cold-cocked
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You critics come to pay me a visit?
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Misery loves company, please stay a minute
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Kryptonite to a hypocrite
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Zip your lip if you dish it but cant take it
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Too busy gettin stoned in your glass house
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To kick rocks, then you wonder why I lash out
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Mr. Mathers as advertised on the flyers, so spread the word
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‘Cause Im promoting my passion til Im passed out
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Completely brain-dead: Rain Man
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Doing a Bankhead in a restraint chair
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So, bitch, shoot me a look, it better be a blank stare
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Or get shanked in the pancreas
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Im angrier than all eight other reindeer
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Put together with Chief Keef cause I hate every fuckin thang, yeah
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Even this rhyme, bitch
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And quit tryin look for a fuckin reason for it that aint there
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But I still am a “Criminal”
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Ten-year-old degenerate grabbin on my genitals
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The last Mathers LP done went diamond
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This time Im predicting that this one will go emerald (Hehe)
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When will the madness end?
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How can it when theres no method to the pad and pen?
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The only message that I have to send
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Is: “Dad, Im back at it again”
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[Outro]
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Bitch (Whos your daddy?)
