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Альбом: The Eminem show
These ideas are nightmares for white parents, whose worst fear is a child with dyed
hair and who likes earrings/Like whatever they say has no bearing, it's so scary in a
house that allows no swearing/to see him walking around with his headphones
blaring, alone in his own zone, cold and he don't care/He's a problem child, and
what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about, his fuckin' dad walkin'
out/cuz he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out. If he ever saw him again
he'd probably knock him out/His thoughts are wacked, he's mad so he's talkin'
back, talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap/He sags his pants, do-rags and a
stocking cap, his step-father hit him, so he socked him back/and broke his nose, his
house is a broken home. There's no control, he just let's his emotions go...
Chorus C'mon! Sing with me (Sing!)/Sing for the year (Sing It)/Sing for the
laughter/ sing for the tear (C'mon!) / Sing it with me/Just for today/Maybe
tomorrow/The good Lord will take you away...
Verse 2 Entertainment is changin', intertwinin' with gangstas, in the land of the
killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum/ unholy, only have one homie, only this gun,
lonely cuz don't anyone know me/Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I
guess words are a mothafucka they can be great/ or they can degrate, or even
worse they can teach hate/It's like these kids hang on every single statement we
make, like they worship us/plus all the stores ship us platinum, now how the fuck
did this metamorphosis happen?/ From standin' on corners and porches just rappin';
to havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass/But then these critics crucify you,
journalists try to burn you, fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you/To get
they hands on every dime you have, they want you to lose your mind every time
you mad/So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon. Any dispute
won't hesitate to produce handguns/That's why these prosecutors wanna convict
me, strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly/But all they kids be listenin' to
me religiously, so I'm signin' CDs while police fingerprint me/They're for the
judge's daughter but his grudge is against me. If I'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit
doesn't make sense B/It's all political, if my music is literal, and I'm a criminal how
the fuck can I raise a little girl?/I couldn't. I wouldn't be fit to. You're full of shit
too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!
Verse 3 They say music can alter moods and talk to you, well can it load a gun up
for you , and cock it too?/Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude, just
tell the judge it was my fault and I'll get sued/See what these kids do is hear about
us totin' pistols and they want to get one cuz they think the shit's cool/not knowin'
we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers, of course the shit's affectin' our
sales, you ignoramus/But music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we
get our checks in the mail. It's fucked up ain't it?/ How we can come from
practically nothing to being able to have any fuckin' thing that we wanted/That's
why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing except for a dream, and a
fuckin' rap magazine/who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long, idolize
they favorite rappers and know all they songs/Or for anyone who's ever been
through shit in their lives, till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die/Till
they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe. We're nothin' to you but
we're the fuckin' shit in they eyes/that's why we seize the moment try to freeze it
and own it, squeeze it and hold it, cuz we consider these minutes golden/and maybe
they'll admit it when we're gone. Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that
you hear in our songs and we can...