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d12 - desperados lyrics

[intro: proof]
yo, ayo, turn the heads up and the mics up
we got the dreadknaughts, y’knahmsayin?
super mc, y’knahmean?
bugz, dirty and all that
all that sh-t, y’knahmsayin?
desperados with the cars — eminem!

[verse 1: eminem]
chauvinist pig, drove in this big lincoln
’til it went over the bridge
jumped out and dove in the ditch
broke in a mobile home and stole a stove and a fridge
kidnapped the parents and left the ransom note for the kids
i’ma go for your mids, here’s a body blow for your ribs
while you’re clutchin’ your stomach
and bleedin’ all over your b-tch
i know where you live, your girl showed me your crib
unless she told me a fib, then i’ma have both of you did
burning incense, facin’ a murder sentence
under intense investigation for k!llin’ infants
while i sit in padded rooms, doin’ shrooms
havin’ visions of dead pregnant women
with brooms jabbed in they wombs
slit your carpet and rugs and f-ck your apartment up
stickin’ up arbor drugs, and jumpin’ in garbage trucks
i’m from the sh-tty slums that look like the city dumps
give you a kidney punch and mug you to get me lunch
see me every summer layin’ up against the dumpster
with a hundred dollar jumper, smothered in southern comfort
got my slim shady sticker on your mother’s bumper
she came home screamin’ a bunch of motherf-ckers jumped her

[verse 2: proof]
ayo, proceed to list ’em, there’s no need to diss ’em
down here we heat ’em, destroy your whole breathing system
twist ’em, like beer caps, once they hear that
rap murder rates, and i snap vertebrates
collapse further states, my track preserve the great
your pack deserve a crate: in fact, the word is fate
i’ll k!ll you slow like aids-infested nuts
i’m holdin’ vendetta like seven great-molested sl-ts
callin’ me a b-tch n-gga, you need to stop
reality, one on one, how many times you got dropped?
i’m cut-throat when any track runs
conscious when i smack nuns
the rough neck that make muslims run and pack guns
i’m volcanic, the sermon preacher
burnin’ emcees, most wanted by herman kiefer
you tried to get a squad, they was like, “money, oh no.”
leave you brain-dead, hittin’ trees with sonny bono
i kick without a dojo, d12 slow flow
shoot down your mothership and pimp-smack mojo
no pro wanna go knuckle-blades with the renegade
n-gga tried to go pop, and plus they minute-made
my lieutenant sprayed your brigade and trampled your flow
big p, the reason emcees cancelled they show
the truth will hurt, seein’ proof at work, no shame in it
the best part of your show is when you put my name in it
my squad be godly, fearin’ sh-t hardly
so i hope when i’ma die dope like chris farley

[verse 3: bugz]
f-ck that! who run sh-t once these drums hit?
you dove headfirst into some old dumb sh-t
here’s a can of -sswhip for you to come get
your cl!ck made they trip, i make them hoes suck mint
ask your girl, they know the scoop: don’t f-ck with bugz, b-tch!
i’ll chop off her t-tty, have you suckin’ one t-t
them pink belly n-ggas is who you run with
makin’ half–ss songs, sh-tty snares and one kick
i hate your d-mn sound, don’t like it one bit
you could make a double album, won’t have one hit
your entire outfit is on some bullsh-t
and there’s not a d-mn one that i can’t outwit
i admit that my style is unfit
for momma’s baby boy, because i’m on some dumb sh-t
like i commit larceny, give harm quick
you pull the alarm switch, i stab you in your armpit
now, who the nitwit wanna come get with
this egotistic hip-hop fundamentalistic?
don’t risk it, you get your sh-t split
now keep your distance and keep existence
i’m persistent when it comes to bent sh-t
i smoked a blunt with my judge right before my sentence
i’m relentless, to deny is senseless
your b-tch paid my bill, that’s where the h-ll your rent went
f-ck that!

[verse 4: supa emcee]
i k!ll compet-tion, with no way out as an opposition
execute the p-ssengers on the flight, my executive decision
then reminisce on how shady the business
terrorists asked by israelis when they visit
bombin’ incentive, world war iii in the makin’
murdered the exhibition, team finish, beat the ref senseless
no time-out, extended play burns over your intermission
then christen the battlefield with the blood of christians
cryin’ for the messiah, but he don’t listen
i pop my wig when i top the stove frame, boil sizzlin’
a pyromaniac cook, i do damage to kitchens
f-ck home depot, i demolition
when i home improve, you need bob here to fix it
f-ck school and supervision!
bit off of financial aid and smoked up my tuition
only hang around rappers with explicit lyrics
and pistol-grip punks for the beefin’ — do you wanna get heated?

[verse 5: stilla sh-llz]
i got a mind full of troubles, everything’s in doubles
i buy my guns in couples, no time for placement fumbles
‘cause emcees come and emcees go, with broke flow
injured from head to toe, no fitter model, we full-throttle
you stuck in low, incapable to master flow
everything is tactical, livin’ mathematical
i smash the flow, unleash and let go
i sh-t like lava, original designer
married to marijuana since a minor
makin’ attempts to sink my battleship
could get you bent like fibs, what?
applying death-defying feats, maintain to keep my peace
flow like the sea when i release these beats over concrete

[verse 6: 0-1]
my presidented transition has taken place
as i express vocally on the m-i-c-r-o
power he cipher, not equality, i deal it
lace the track and made it real, now i know my peoples feel it
keep their heads bobbin’ and the emotionals sobbin’
plus a culture-cipher after shows, hoes slobbin’
kn-bs love the f-ckin’ flavor of the icin’
plus i’m precise and my double edge continue slicin’

- d12 lyrics

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