Almost Famous

Can't stop now, this may be the last chance that I get—
(I just wanna be famous).

[Chorus:]
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 want to be famous,
But be careful what you wish for

[Verse 1]
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 with a Mossberg
I'm pissed off, get murdered
Like someone took a ketchup squirter
Squirted a frankfurter
For a gangster you sure did shit your pants
When you saw that chainsaw get to waving
Like a terrible towel
How thangs turn out
When his fangs come out
Get your brains blown out
That's what I call blowing 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 screaming "a tac!" like I just stepped on one
Low on the totem till he showed 'em
Defiance, giant scrotum
He don't owe 'dem 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 dying of boredom
Take your best rhymes, record 'em
To try to thwart him
He'll just take your punch lines and snort 'em
Shit stained drawers
You gon' fuck with a guy who licks the blades of his chainsaws
While he dips 'em in PF Chang's sauce
Games off, homie, hang it up like some crank calls
You think I'm backing down
You must be out of your dang skulls
I'm almost famous

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]
I'm back for revenge
I lost a battle that ain't happening 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 Meyers
And tell that psycho to pass the torch
To the whacko '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
Get off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick
Don't call me the champ; call me the space shuttle destroyer
I just blew up the Challenger, matta' fact I need a lawyer
I just laced my gloves wit' enough plaster
To make a cast, beat his ass naked and peed in his corner like Vern Troyer
Ya'll are Eminem backwards, your meni me's
See he's in a whole 'nother weight class
He slugs, you're BB's you're bean bag bullets
You're full of it; you were dissin' his CD's
Laughed at Infinite, now he's back like someone pissed in his Wheaties
No peace treaties, he's turned into a beast
His new Slim Shady EP's got the attention of the mighty D. R. E.
He's almost famous

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
Now there he goes in Dre's studio cuppin' his balls
Screaming the wood off the panelling
Cussing the paint off the walls
Spewing his hate to these haters, showing no love for these broads
He ain't given 'em shit, he says he'll pinch a penny so hard
He'll leave a bruise on the bronze so dark you can see the mark
When it scars, till Abraham Lincoln is screaming out "awww!"
His metaphors and similes ain't similar to them, not at all
If they don't like it, they can all get fucked instead of sucking him off
They can go get a belt or a neck tie, to hang themselves by
Like David Carradine they can go fuck themselves and just die
And eat shit while they at it
He's fucking had it, he's mad at the whole world
So go to hell and build a snowman, girl
The bullies become bullied, if pussies get pushed
Then they better pull me, take me back to 9th grade to school me
'Cause I ain't looking back, only forward, this whole spot blow it
Who could have known he'd grow to be a poet and not know it
And while I'm being poetic let me get historic and raise the bar
Higher than my opinion of these women's been lowered
So bare witness to some biblical shit
There's a cold wind blowing
This world ain't gonna know what hit it
He did it, he made it, he's finally famous