Eminem — Fuck You Lab Rat Remix

[Verse 1: Eminem] Met a retarded kid named Greg with a wooden leg Snatched it off, beat him over the fucking head with a peg Go to bed with the keg, wake up with a 40 mixed up with alka seltzer and formula 4D Fuck a acid tab, I strap the whole sheet to my forehead Wait till it absorbed in then I fell to the floor dead No more saying, case closed end of discussion I'm blowing up like spontaneous human combustion Leavin' you in the aftermath of Holocaust and traumas Across the the bombers, we blowin' up your house Killing your parents, and coming back to get for mamas And I'm as good as keeping a promise as Nostradamus I ain't making no more threats. I'm doing drive by's in tinted corvettes on Vietnam war vets I'm more or less sick in the head. Maybe more Cause' I smoked cracked today, yesterday, and the day before Saboteur, walk the block with a Labrador Strapped with more corral for war than El Salvador Foul style galore. Verbal cow manure Comin' together like an eyebrow on Al B. Sure! I'm the illest rapper to hold a cordless. Patrolling Corners Looking for hookers to punch in the mouth for a roll of quarters I'm meaner in action than Roscoe Beating James [?] Senior, smacking his back with vacuum cleaner attachments I grew up in a wild hood, was a hazardous youth With a fucked up childhood that I use as an excuse And ain't shit change, I kept the same mind state since the 3rd time I failed 9th grade You prolly think that I'm a negative person. Don't be so sure of it I don't promote violence, I just encourage it I laugh at the sight of death, cause' I fall down a cement flight of steps and land inside a bed of spider webs Throw cautions in the wind, you and a friend can jump off a bridge and if you live do it again Shit why not! Blow your brain out. I'm blowing mine out Fuck it, You only live once, you might as well die now! [Verse 2: Dr. Dre] I squat like a blunts tips, something cavi Making green like Mitch. Gift rap vocals dispatch With every attempt I had this game shook up When Dre cook up. Every thug look up Chronic got me on chill. Eyes bloodshot heavy built Lay a nigga out like quil. Clear the guilt! I rock Corollas from low riders to henny toasters Cut off dead weight to keep my formulas Kosher Accept no invitations. Dre losing his stack Slimmest chances, of Michael Jackson getting his black fans back. My reputation is like a tech nine, and I got the best in the circle Three minutes wreck[?] time. See the hand faster than the eye can chase it Dre, b-real, soul assassins got potential buttons activated No illusion I have you caught up in a rapture Executive decisions, from the mother fucking puppet master