[Intro]
Uh
Hangmen 3
Uh
Uh
[Verse 1]
Man, these little boys ain't built for beef
Stick to rap before you get k**ed in the streets
I'm calling you out, b**h, we can knuckle it up
Bet a hundred, fifty grands that I'm f**ing you up
Open your mouth, Em, I'll let you taste the Glock
Put it all up in your face like Papa Doc
Benzino, n***a, know I got shells to spit
f** Obie Trice, your wife, and D12 dicks
I run this, my fans let the Glock explode
Never met a live n***a across 8 Mile Road
You're the sixth Backstreet Boy that learned to rap
And his gun had no bullets, who he trying to clap?
I really thought he was gay at the Grammy Awards
Elton John singing with his hand holding up yours
Trying to tell the media that you did it all for profit
We hear it on the remix you cleaning out your closet
[Hook 2x]
You better lose yourself went I find you
Remind you what the nine do if I let it blow
It only takes one shot, do not let me co*k this four
Your life's opportunity come to a flatline
[Verse 2]
Second verse, it gets worse, it gets much realer than this
Eminem still on Benzino's dick
Talking 'bout I'm dead broke and you must be crazy
Every time you up in the Source, your label got to pay me
Make me come to Detroit and put the gun to Hailie
Have everybody like "Benzino going crazy"
Top of the game, I'm the one running the race
Got a Bentley for every little bump in your face
We can meet up in the streets, we can box it out
Or you're bluffing in your records just popping your mouth
You used to do songs about smoking crack and dust
Back when Insane Clown Posse smacked you up
You a drag queen? Why you keep your hair that color?
Know your mom wished she swallowed you and put on that rubber
I'm here to bank, s** a dick, play your position
f** apologies, hollow tips is all that I'm giving
[Hook]
[Verse 3]
Let's get in depth for a second 'bout the life you live
Every other record crying 'bout your wife and kids
Better lose yourself for a couple moments or more
You don't want drama or a bullet hole in your jaw
Let's take it back for a minute to the Grammy Awards
Backstage, Elton John had his hands in your drawers
I don't care how many nails you put in my coffin
Ask your baby moms why she take flights to Boston
Everybody like "why you f**ing with Em?"
He made three diss records, man I'm under his skin
You better stick to dissing cats like Fred Durst and Britney
I'm a Made Man, it's kind of hard to hit me
Don't think the guns won't blow cause you signed 50
Got a whole bunch of New York n***as that's with me
Keep telling me I ain't supposed to rap
I thought this white boy was supposed to be the best at rap
[Hook]
[Benzino talking during hook]
Come on man
You really don't want it man
I don't know who's blowing your f**ing head up
But you really don't want it
You think that motherf**er in the 8th grade always beat you senseless
I'll f** you up for real
And anybody you want to motherf**ing bring for the ride will get that too
You ain't sh** in the streets man
You a f**ing p**y
I don't care how many times you frowned in the f**ing picture
I'll f** you up for real
You b**h a** motherf**er
f** you talking about
Mean streets of Boston?
Motherf**ers will k** you n***a
You're afraid to bleed n***a
Alright?
f**ing Obie a**, f**er a** n***a
b**h a** n***a
Boston n***as will f**ing rape you, you f**ing ho