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Almost Famous

アーティスト：Eminem  アルバム：Recovery  作詞：ABDUL RAHMAN KHALIL/RAHMAN KHALIL ABDUL  作曲：ABDUL RAHMAN KHALIL/RAHMAN KHALIL ABDUL 

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You dream of trading places, I have been changing faces You can not fill these shoes, there is too much to lose Wake up behind these trenches, you run around defenseless There is too much to lose, you can not fill these shoes (I just wanna be famous but), be careful what you wish for I stuck my dick in this game like a rapist, they call me Slim Roethlisberger I go berserker than a fed up post office worker A murker wit a Mossberg, I'm pissed off, get murdered Like someone took a ketchup squirter, squirted a frankfurter For a gangster ya sure did shit your pants when you saw that chainsaw get to waivin' like a terrible towel How things turn around when his fangs come out, get your brains blown out That's what I call blowin' your mind, when I cum back like nut on your spine I'm the thumb tack that you slept on, son, now here I come screamin' 'a tac' like I just stepped on one Low on the totem till he showed em defiance, giant scrotum He don't owe them bitches shit, his britches, he out growed 'em He's so out cold he's knocked out at the South Pole And nobody fucks with him, rigor mortis and post mortem He's dyin' of boredom, take your best rhymes, record em To try and thwart em, he'll just take your punch lines and snort em Shit stained drawers, you gon' fuck wit a guy who licks the blades of his chainsaws While he dips em in P.F. Chang sauce Games off homie, hang it up like some crank calls You think im backin' down, you must be out of your dang skulls, I'm almost famous You dream of trading places, I have been changing faces You can not fill these shoes, there is too much to lose Wake up behind these trenches, you run around defenseless There is too much to lose, you can not fill these shoes (I just wanna be famous but), be careful what you wish for I'm back for revenge, I lost the battle, that ain't happenin' again I'm at your throat like strep, I step, strapped with a pen Metaphors wrote on my hand, some are just stored in my memory Some are wrote on a napkin, I do what I have to to win Pullin' out all stops, any who touch a mic prior's Not even Austin Powers, how the fuck are they Mike Myers And tell that psycho to pass the torch to the wacko 'Fore I take a shit in his jack-o-lantern and smash it on his porch Now get off my dick, dick's too short of a word for my dick



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