[Prelude: Eminem, Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood]

Yo blast me off, Tim

Where's that boom?

Blast me off, son

Pew, pew, pew- pew, pew!

The bombs, man!

Right now, we're doin' this for Beijing, baby, understand how it's goin' down

That's how he talk

Blastin' off right now, son!

Real big, real legendary up in the game

Yeah

Drippin' in swagger juice

Yeah

We ready to go in this?

Yeah, yeah

[Part I: "Respect My Conglomerate" by Busta Rhymes]

[Intro 1: Eminem, Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood]

Are we swaggered up?

Swaggered up, yeah

Let's do it, baby, Radio 1, Westwood, sample's about to go down

Check my swag

Eminem, Kon, baby, Alchemist, we're doin' it like this

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Let's go, baby

A'ight, a'ight, look

[Verse 1: Eminem]

I wasn't born mean, I was pushed to treachery

I walk the streets, lookin' for some puss to fetch me

I'm like a veggie, brain is turned to mush, I'm edgy

Edgy enough to give Reggie Bush a wedgie

If he don't gimme Kim, things could get messy

So pass that ass to me, let me squish the left cheek

And press against the right one 'til it's smushed against me

And leave a dead body in the woods, the emcee

With the Christopher Reeves beef, we started off on the wrong foot

Or should I say fake leg made outta wood?

I shouldn't, yes, I should

Ridin' through the hood, I'm chillin' with Westwood

I'm quite mellow, a white fellow

My pee is bright yellow, I like Jell-O

I'm like, "Hello," to a cute little dyke on the mic

I'm kinda like Iron Mike 'cause I bite earlobes

[Interlude 1: Mr. Porter & Eminem]

Yeah

Well, I must must say (Yeah?)

Well, um, I'm just not gay

Well, um, I must must say

Um, well, look- (Mr. Porter, son)

[Verse 2: Mr. Porter]

See I'm the first one to class and the last to leave

I mean the first one to leave outta class, believe

That I'm a mailbox pimp in my heart 'til I die

Even after I'm all gone and my ashes fried

Went from an ashy guy, class clown as high

To a grown-ass man stackin' motherfuckin' paper

Runyon Ave.'s the clique, D12's the game

We've been spittin' this shit since we was little bébés

Gaga goo goo, nana, nani do do, never

Word to my homie Em, I'm just too too clever

A 4-5 shot'll leave a nigga's face lop-sided

The kick from the barrel make you think I'm cock-eyeded,

When I bust it off in the crowd, niggas start divin'

Greg Louganis went over the bar, I ain't lyin'

Hot iron lethals, not defyin' a soldier

Runyon Ave. soldier equals death when it's over

It's none colder than niggas that understand the struggle

Apply the street-muscle, we've been had to hustle

We've been had to hustle, we've been had to muscle

Apply the street hustle, we've been had to hustle

[Verse 3: Eminem & Mr. Porter]

Yeah, aight

Me and Westwood, blastin' off, jackin' off

In a pair of acid-washed, bumpin' Asher Roth

Cruisin' Gratiot 'til I damn near crashed the car

I'm tryna smash 'em off in the dash, hit the overpass, went off (Woo!)

Over the bridge, into oncoming traffic, caused

A massive forty-two car pile-up, not a scratch at all (Woo!)

Hopped up holdin' an axe and saw

Jason mask is off when my face is plastered in tabasco sauce

Spittin' flames, kickin' fire out your ass, you little bastard

You can pass it on, I'm battery acid, dawg

You don't wanna get my ass ticked off

I'm harder than playin' basketball while I'm goin' through crack withdrawal (Woo!)

Dick so big it's like elastic

I tie it in a knot and it looks like Mr. Fantastic crossed

The path of Plastic Man with a drastic force

And went spastic, put my penis on classic sports (Look)

[Interlude 3: Mr. Porter]

Woo!

God, look, look-

[Verse 4: Mr. Porter & Eminem]

I shoot straight off the hip, trey-eight off the rip

But see, I ain't fo' that shit

I got a fist print fo' yo' lip

Lookin' shit is swole up like the stomach on a fat pregnant bitch

And it's evident that I get chips like the president

Been a lotta rules, keep the tools for the haters left

Niggas ain't fadin' 'em, seal a crack, do a trim

Got a lot of dough, but you know I ain't trickin' on 'em

Get some head spinnin' on 'em, keep the head spinnin' on 'em

See, I ain't diggin' on 'em, keep the head hidden from 'em

You know how it go, no dough trickin' on 'em

She just wanna blow, see what she can get from 'em

But she don't know my name, I'm 'bout the game, I'm pickin' on her

Wrist so cold that my left hand's numb as summer

I rip a hole 'til she don't want you gettin' on her

She makes you wonder if the women even want ya

Mr. Porter, keep a ho in order

Learned it from my daddy, I teach it to my daughter (Yeah)

Ya ought to know the quota of my whole workout

I float like Noah and I don't want the boat to rover bounce

[Interlude 4: Eminem & Mr. Porter]

Ahaha, yeah

Yeah, ayy, let's change that beat, homie

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Where's the swag juice, Al?

Come on, homie

Swag drip

Swag is dryin' up right now

Where's the swag?

[Part II: "Microphone" by Slaughterhouse]

[Interlude 5: Eminem]

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Alright, alright

Yeah, yeah

Yo

[Verse 5: Eminem]

Once again, it's the sinister, cynical, minister Shady

Kryptonite to Superman, he's a dentist to Amy

Administer of the pain, just finished huffin' the paint

And muffler fumes like it was nothin', because it ain't

Anything in his way, his enemies he just slays

His venom he spray reaches like beams of energy rays

Menacin' stares, he glares, makin' the hairs

All on the back of yo' neck stand like Dracula, yep

Spectacular rep, he's a tarantula, gargantuan

Yeah, Angela, so I command you to start dancin'

Part Manson, part Hannibal, part mechanical shark

Throwin' animal parts at Scarlett Johansson

Enter my gas chamber, you're gangsta my ass

He's got his fangs to your neck, he's set to strangle ya ass, hater

You're facin' a task greater, he's chasin' your ass

He's got his face in a mask, your bloodstains on his glass table

[Verse 6: Mr. Porter]

I'm so obnoxious, open hand slap a nigga, you wouldn't

See, you couldn't, you went off cryin' like Cuba Gooding

I swan dive in your bitch pussy, I call her puddin'

She love her some nani, I love the bitch cookin'

Scrap back, you niggas weak as Chuck Nevitt

I fuck buckin' naked; Jesus piece swing reckless

Entrepo-po head honcho, hope you're ready 'fore

I pop his ass, nigga, kickin' through your door

You send goons to do your work

I send goons to mamas in church, I've been a problem since birth

Got a middle finger up her skirt

I don't ask a bitch on a date, I ask her can I fuck her first

See y'all with this Runyon shit

I made somethin' out of nothin', I'm a hustler, bitch

I keep a 9 tucked, burnin' up the side of my hip

Gotta make a hit for any nigga for fifty-thousand chips

[Interlude: Mr. Porter & Eminem]

Bitch!

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Aight

[Verse 7: Eminem]

I'm checking the exposure of photos of me exposing

Myself locked inside of a cozy hotel, posing

With or without clothing, next to the decomposing

Bodies eroding while I'm dozing off, overdosing

Windows opening, shutting, doors opening, closing

I think there's a ghost, too much hydrocodone and codeine

I was only s'posed to swallow a half, I took the whole thing

I'm not joking, I think I just snorted my nose ring

I need a drink, I'm standin' over the sink, posing

Myself, self-loathing, 'cause I'm on the brink, mostly

I don't wanna think, "This will make everything rosy"

Beverly sings, scream while I'm severing three toe-sies

Totally frozen while I close in, I'm yodeling

"Rosey, won't you come out to play?" Ain't no sense

Wasting time, cutting and pasting headlines in the papers

Making shrines of my crimes and capers

My words are whirlwinds, I murder my girlfriends

Go to Europe and put Nurofens in my syrup and stir them

You never heard him like this, so don't encourage him

The neurosurgeon, coke mirrors, and lyrics worse than

The kinda person to get Katie Couric to cursin'

Eighty spirits of ladies 'cause Shady murdered the virgins

Crazy turn of events, and then he emerged, took

Over the world and reeled in all the children

Lured 'em into the buildin' and killed 'em

Buried 'em in the mulch and mildew and he will do what he feels, and

Still can spin straw into gold like Rumpelstiltskin

Cotton to silk, Motrin to Tylenol 3 pills, the Real Slim

Shady's entered the buildin'

There's nothin' but crumbled leaves and tumbleweeds up in this bitch, Mildrid

He's ill wit' it, he still shouldn't be healed

There's no one as sick as he, emcees'll get fricasseed on the grill then

[Interlude 7: Mr. Porter]

Woah

Alright

[Part III: "Chonkyfire" by Outkast]

[Interlude 8: Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood & Eminem]

Fuck that! Aha

Right now

Ahahahaha

Building's on fire

Evacuate!

You want to start with the hook first?

Oh, okayI have no idea what I'm doing

I have no idea what I'm doing, but

[Verse 8: Eminem]

Everybody get up, sit up, Christopher

They're miserable without you, Superman is a-

-live and he's flowin' like the Mystic River

Girl, don't act like you've never been kissed before

One, two, three, four, five, six, this-a

Rhyme is about to hit you right in the kisser

How did anybody ever find me? I disa-

-ppeared, I was hidin' in Freeway's beard, just a

Hop, skip and I jump from my skin gushin'

Nails into my face that I've been pushin'

Hellraiser, my face is my pin cushion

It's like when I'm on the mic, I can squish a

Sucker like a vise grip, my pen put ya

In the slaughterhouse, 'cause your style's been butchered

I'll spin chainsaw, take off, like the blades on

My brain's on hyperdrive, someone put the brakes on

[Chorus: Eminem, Mr. Porter, Eminem & Mr. Porter]

Here's a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget

Don't try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice

Now here's a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget

Don't try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit (Huh-uh)

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice (Yeah)

I got you slippin' on my swag juice (Okay, look)

[Verse 9: Mr. Porter]

I got it figured out now, nigga, see

My-My mind's right, money right, can't nobody stoppin' how I get it

In hindsight, I never should'a left where I was livin'

I pro'bly wouldn't be gettin' pressed by all these women

But then again, I wouldn't have met the ones that I was diggin'

Sanaa Lathan lookin', talk a lot

Don't she like Lil Kim and Kim and, uh, Serena Williams?

Just like my [?] I'm a regular Charles Dickens

Bitch, called me talkin' 'bout she pregnant

She praised me, so I Mannie Fresh'd that ho and left baby

I'll never trust her, no

Shit, even if she specialize in mouth, massagin' my testicles

I never trust her a whole lot

Even on the first day we met, she's basically gettin' her mouth raped

Then turned around and ask me for a kiss, "No, bitch, I'm straight"

I never really been concerned with how my own dick taste

[Pre-Chorus: Mr. Porter & Eminem]

I think I'm 'bout to slip on my swag juice

I think I'm 'bout to slip on your swag juice

Oh no! No, no, don't slip on your swag juice!

Yeah, yeah, I think I'm 'bout to slip on my swag juice

[Chorus: Eminem, Mr. Porter, Eminem & Mr. Porter]

So here's a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget

Don't try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, alright, ayy

[Verse 10: Eminem]

Slim is in the house, simmer down there, sister

Bound to get you dizzy, 'cause he gets as busy as a

Bee- baby, you could throw a frisbee in a blizzard

He'll catch it in his teeth, what is he? He's a wizard

Standin' in the disco with a disco biscuit

And I'm pretty sure it isn't Bisquick, is it?

Now, baby, don't forget to bring your lipstick wit' ya

I want the kiss 'fore I blow this bitch to smithe-

-reens, get the guillotines, this is a situ-

-ation that's critical as Dre spins his, uh

Turntables and he cuts the record like a scissor

Checka-chicky-checka-chicky-checka-checka-chicka

We'll wreck it in a second, tell me what the heck is sicker?

Wait a minute, I just dropped my necklace in the liquor

Now, baby, just to make a little breakfast and it's six o'-

-clock in the mornin', 'less you want to get some dessert

[Chorus: Eminem, Mr. Porter, Eminem & Mr. Porter]

So here's a smidgen, a midget to get your Bridgets, digit

Don't try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice

I got you slippin' on my swag juice

I said, here's a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget

Don't try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit

I got you slippin' on my swag juice, my swag juice

I got you slippin' on my swag, my swag juice

[Outro: Eminem, Mr. Porter, Tim Westwood, Eminem & Mr. Porter]

Yeah!

Hahahahaha

Hahahahaha

Ayo

Just so everybody knows, that was a hook

That we made on the way to the radio station

And we were tryin' to get it right

So we may have fucked it up a couple times or whatever, but

This is what we were tryin' to, like, work out before we came here

Especially for Westwood, man! 'Specially for you, homie!

Damn, Eminem! Thanks for listening, baby