We're nothin' to you but we're the fuckin' shit in they eyes Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe. Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in their lives, till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die Who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long, idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs That's why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing except for a dream, and a fuckin' rap magazine How we can come from practically nothing to being able to have any fuckin' thing that we wanted Not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers, of course the shit's affectin' our sales, you ignoramusīut music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail. See what these kids do is hear about us totin' pistols and they want to get one cuz they think the shit's cool 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 They say music can alter moods and talk to you, well can it load a gun up for you, and cock it too?
#EMINEM SING FOR THE MOMENT FULL#
You're full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you! It's all political, if my music is literal, and I'm a criminal how the fuck can I raise a little girl? If I'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit doesn't make sense B They're for the judge's daughter but his grudge is against me. That's why these prosecutors wanna convict me, strictly just to get me off of these streets quicklyīut all they kids be listenin' to me religiously, so I'm signin' CDs while police fingerprint me Any dispute won't hesitate to produce handguns So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon. To get they hands on every dime you have, they want you to lose your mind every time you mad
#EMINEM SING FOR THE MOMENT PLUS#
Plus all the stores ship us platinum, now how the Fuck did this metamorphosis happen?įrom standin' on corners and porches just rappin' to havin' a fortune, no more kissin' assīut then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you, fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you It's like these kids hang on every single statement we make, like they worship us Or they can degrate, or even worse they can teach hate Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a mothafucka they can be great Holy or unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz don't anyone know me There's no control, he just let's his emotions go.Įntertainment is changin', intertwinin' with gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum He sags his pants, do-rags and a stocking cap, his step-father hit him, so he socked him backĪnd broke his nose, his house is a broken home. His thoughts are wacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back, talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap If he ever saw him again he'd probably knock him out He's a problem child, and what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about, his fuckin' dad walkin' outĬuz he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out. 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 These ideas are nightmares for white parents, whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings
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