Whitey’s Revenge (Eminem Diss)

Lyrics

[Intro] What? Did I hurt your feelings? Uh, I'm 'pposed to be scared now, right? Yo, I'd like to dedicate this record right here To Mr. Marshall Mathers' mother Yeah This one for your mom's [Verse] Here come the mighty, one they call Whitey All you sons of Whitey are all dickbiters So won't that bitch Slim Shady please act up? Get smacked up, get your eyes blacked up With your candy-ass name, you're a candy-ass rapper I'll smack you up, shut you off like the Clapper Whoever said you was raw, son, they lied I know that shit I spit on Dilated hurt your pride Screamin' on a record how you wish I died But you don't wanna see me on this physical side You just a fake tough guy, tryna act hard But won't walk a lobby without your bodyguard You ain't pullin' my card, you ain't ridin' the train Back in the day, kids like you got robbed for they chain Step to me like a man with the hands, get slain Matter of fact, when you see me, bitch, gimme some brain Yo, it's like that, we could fight, Jack Let's put the mics down, you'll catch a beatdown I get love in New York, got fam in L.A And I heard you might be the MC that's gay With your platinum blonde Caesar, you look like a ho Like M&M stand for Marilyn Monroe Talkin' 'bout killin' sprees, you ain't like that, yo Makin' lots of enemies, but that's all for show You punk Ecstasy junkie, you waste of skills Stop ridin' my dilz, stay high on pills Boy, I hope you OD, don't be playin' with me Little bitch, need to watch what you sayin' to me Talkin' shit for shock value, boy, you ain't real Turned hard the day Dre gave you a record deal You went and sold your soul for some mass appeal Servin' up that hors d'oeuvre, kid, now eat this meal Instead of worryin' 'bout who you should be dissin' Need to worry 'bout who your wifey been kissin' Or if you go to prison while you doin' your bid I'll look in on your lady and do things for your kid Make her write you lots of letters 'bout the things that we did Send you pictures of me chillin' all up in your crib And that shit about Sway n' Tech, that was a fib First time you met me I showed you love in D.C But you were scared like a pussy with your eyes on the floor While your crew showed me love outside the front door Talkin' 'bout "Yo, whassup, ain't you Whitey Ford? I love that song 'What It's Like' and jam 'Praise The Lord'" I don't do this for the money, yo, I do it for fun You might hang around some gangstas, but you ain't one And you won't be slappin' me with no empty gun Talkin' 'bout a fag, but you the one in drag And you can't keep your woman from goin' astray Better run and check your kid for your DNA I take care of my mom's, you get sued by yours With your corny metaphors 'bout drugs and crack whores You're a sucker [Outro] Word up, for real You wanna talk some shit, money? Come talk it with the hands, B I ain't wastin' no more time with you, man, fuck that shit, that's it That's it