I can almost taste it
This shit makes no sense to me
What does it all mean?
I can almost taste it
I can almost see it
This shit makes no sense to me
What does it all mean?
I can almost taste it

Yeah, can't stop now (I can almost taste it)
This may be the last chance I get to be famous
(I just wanna be famous)

You dream of trading places
I have been changing faces
You cannot fill these shoes
There is too much to lose
Wake up behind these trenches
You run around defenseless
There is too much to lose
You cannot fill these shoes
I just wanna be famous, but
Be careful what you wish you for

I stuck my dick in this game like a rapist
They call me Slim Roethlisberger
I go berserker than a fed-up post office worker
I murk her with a Mossberg, I'm pissed off, get murdered
Like someone took a ketchup squirter, squirted a frankfurter
For a gangster, you sure did shit your pants
When you saw the chainsaw get to waving like a terrible towel
How things turn around when his fangs come out
Get your brains blown out, that's what I call blowin' your mind
When I come back, like nut on your spine
I'm the thumb tack that you slept on, son
Now here I come, screaming "Attack" like I just stepped on one
Low on the totem 'til he showed 'em defiance, giant scrotum
He don't owe them bitches shit, his britches, he outgrowed 'em
He's so out cold, he's knocked out at the South Pole
And nobody fucks with him, rigor mortis and post mortem
He's dying of boredom
Take your best rhymes, record 'em, to try and thwart him
He'll just take your punch lines and snort 'em
Shit stained drawers
You gon' fuck with a guy who licks the blades of his chainsaws
While he dips 'em in P.F. Chang's sauce?
Game's up, homie, hang it up like some crank calls
You think I'm backin' down? You must be out of your dang skulls
I'm almost famous

You dream of trading places
I have been changing faces
You cannot fill these shoes
There is too much to lose
Wake up behind these trenches
You run around defenseless
There is too much to lose
You cannot fill these shoes
I just wanna be famous, but
Be careful what you wish you for

I'm back for revenge, I lost a battle, that ain't happenin' again
I'm at your throat like strep, I step, strapped with a pen
Metaphors wrote on my hand, some are just stored in my memory
Some I wrote on a napkin, I do what I have to to win
Pullin' out all stops, any who touch a mic prior's
Not even Austin Powers, how the fuck are they Mike Meyers?
And tell that psycho to pass the torch to the wacko
'Fore I take a shit in his Jack-O-Lantern and smash it on his porch
Now get off my dick, dick's too short a word for my dick
Get off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick
Don't call me the champ, call me the Space Shuttle Destroyer
I just blew up the Challenger, matter fact, I need a lawyer
I just laced my gloves with enough plaster to make a cast
Beat his ass naked and peed in his corner like Verne Troyer
Y'all are Eminem backwards, you're Mini Mes
See, he's in a whole 'nother weight class
He's slugs, you're BB's, you're bean-bag bullets
You're full of it, you were dissin' his CD's
Laughed at Infinite, now he's back like someone pissed in his Wheaties
No peace treaties, he's turned into a beast
His new Slim Shady EP's got the attention of the mighty D.R.E
He's almost famous

You dream of trading places
I have been changing faces
You cannot fill these shoes
There is too much to lose
Wake up behind these trenches
You run around defenseless
There is too much to lose
You cannot fill these shoes
I just wanna be famous, but
Be careful what you wish you for

Now there he goes in Dre's studio, cuppin' his balls
Screamin' the wood off the panelin', cussin' the paint off the walls
Spewin' his hate to these haters, showin' no love for these broads
He ain't givin' them shit, he says he'll pinch a penny so hard
He'll leave a bruise on the bronze so dark you can see the mark
When it scars, 'til Abraham Lincoln is screaming out, "Ah"
His metaphors and similes ain't similar to them, not at all
If they don't like it, they can all get fucked instead of suckin' him off
They can get a belt or neck tie, to hang themselves by
Like David Carradine, they can go fuck themselves and just die
And eat shit while they at it, he's fuckin' had it
He's mad at the whole world
So go to hell and build a snowman, girl
The bullies become bullied, and pussies get pushed
Then they better pull me, take me back to 9th grade to school me
'Cause I ain't lookin' back, only forward, this whole spot blowin'
Who coulda known he'd grow to be a poet and not know it
And while I'm being poetic, let me get it stoic and raise the bar
Higher than my opinion of these women's been lowered
So bare witness to some biblical shit, there's a cold wind blowin'
This world ain't gonna know what hit it
He did it, he made it, he's finally famous

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Daniel Tannenbaum, Erik Albert George Alcock, Khalil Abdul-Rahman, Liz Rodrigues, Marshall Bruce Mathers, Pranam Injeti