Eminem - Alfred's Theme Lyrics
Eminem - Alfred's Theme Lyrics
Before I check the mic (Check, check, one, two)I give it an extra swipe with a Lysol disinfectant wipe (Good evening)Coronavirus in effect tonightAntiseptics on deck, I got every type (Yeah)I throw on my tux, then I (Yeah) give zero fucks, then I (Yeah)Act like a jockstrap (Uh), cup my nuts, then I (Yeah)Check my ball hair (What?), make sure it's all there (Yeah)Then call the pallbearer (Yeah)It's Music to Be Murdered By again, why stop?Overkill like a pipe bomb in your pine boxYou're all hitched to my cock (What?)Went from punchin' a time clock to getting my shotThen treated it like a cyclopsLike it's the only one I (Only one eye) gotAnd my thoughts are like nines cocked (Chk-chk)Every line's obscene, pervertedest mind, got the dirtiest rhyme stockedThat's why there's parental advising (Visine) every time I drop (Eye drop)So throw on the theme to Alfred, I'll channel him like the Panama CanalBut how could I get up in arms about you saying trash is all that I put out?Bitch, I still get the bag when I'm putting garbage outPlus, the potty mouth, I'm not about to wash it outThe filthiest, so all this talk about "I'm washed up", how preposterousBecause if cleanliness is next to godlinessIt's obvious that it's impossible for me to be beside myselfAnd I'm 'bout that capital like a proper nounStill on top the pileGot me sitting on numbers like a pocket dialQuick to call you out on your bullshitDon't make me give that crock a dial'Cause if I do, it's see you later, alligatorMade it out the trailer, then I made a vow to cater to no oneSo hate, I've gained about the same amount that's in my bank accountSo here's some more shit for you to complain about, I say theBars that never slack, but always get attacked (Yeah)I think they're gunnin' for me, it's startin' to feel like thatLike I'm marked, 'cause when I rap, it's like fallin' on my back in a tar pit'Cause I have this target on my back (Ew, yuck)But if I ever double-crossed my fans and lost my StansI'd probably pop five Xans (Yeah)Go in my garage, start my vanInhale as much carbon monoxide and exhaust I canAnd doze off like *snores*But odds like that, with these thoughts I have's like a giant getting squashed by antsIf this is the test of time, I'd pass with flying colorsLike I just tossed my crayons (Tossed my crayons)Small, medium, and large size cansSanitizers of all types, brands, cost nine bandsWhich is a small price for Lysol wipes andIf my palms brush across my pants, I wash my hands
Shit, hold on, manMotherfuckerHappy birthday to—Fuck (Shh, quiet)
I sit in silence in candlelit environmentsSipping Wild Irish while getting violentHomicidal visions when I'm spitting like thisBut really I'm just fulfilling my wish of killing rhymesWhich is really childish and silly, but I'm really like thisI'm giving nightmares to Billie Eilish, I'm Diddy's side bitch
What the fuck? Hold on, wait"I'm Diddy's side bitch?"Oh, I'm still east side, bitch
So until the E-N-D, since EPMDBeen givin' y'all the business (Yeah), D-R-E and me (Yup)From the MMLP to MTBMB (Bitch)Bitch, it's 2020, you still ain't seein' me (Haha)So call me Santa Clause (Santa Clause)'Cause at the present (Yeah), I out-rap 'em all, I'm at the mallGot your bitch in a bathroom stall, she could suck a basketball (Uh)Through a plastic straw (Yeah) with a fractured jaw (Damn)My dick is coat check (Ha), she wanna jack it off (Yeah)I'm so far past the bar, I should practice lawMentally, I'm fucked up generally (General Lee) (Duh)Dukes of Hazzard car (Yeah), get the cadaver dogs'Cause this is murder, murder and you'll get murked, murkedThis music 'bout to kill you, brr, brr (Brr)This chicken hit my phone, she said, "Chirp, chirp"I said, "Hut, hut, hike your skirt, skirt"Then go eat some worms, like the early birdWhat the fuck is love? That's a dirty wordMake me fall in it, there's not a girl on EarthOr any other planet, that's a world of hurtAnd I won't buy a designer, 'cause I don't pander (Panda)But I'm back with so many knots, I need a chiropractor (Damn)And this the final chapter, 'cause I'm either frying afterOr they gon' give me the needle (What?) like a vinyl scratcher (DJ)Yeah, I'm a card, like HallmarkAt Walmart with a small cart buying wall artAnd y'all who claim to be dogs aren'tNo bite, like a tree, mostly just all bark, arf, arfBut y'all pickin' the wrong tree, they call me dog because I'm barking (Bar king, bark, bark, barking)And I got a lot, yeah, like where cars parkI'd describe it as bowling (Why?) ball hard (Ball's hard)'Cause the gutter's where my mind is and whenIt's in this frame, better split like the five and the ten'Cause without a second to spare, I'm strikin' againAnd when the beat is up my alley, I go right for the pens (Pins)The cypher beginsI'm talkin' smack like heroin, the mic's a syringeIt's like a binge, Vicodin, I would liken to tinMy mind is a recycling binThere's no place I never beenBut I never budge and I never bendYou hyperextend on me, this game's life, it dependsLike adult diapers for menEven when I'm rappin' less stellarIt's sour grapes, I still whine, I'm the best seller (Cellar)Like a trey deuce, spray you as these shots penetrate through Dre's boothAnd go straight through your grapefruit, no escape routeSo you won't leave here just scathed with a few scrape woundsYour ass is grass and I am not gonna graze youBut if bars were semi-mac's, I'd be the Mad Hatter'Cause I got so many caps, and you don't have any straps (Nah)So you'd be a fitted (Yeah), so don't act like you fittin' to snapBitch, I'll pee (P) on your head like a Phillies hat (Haha)No stoppin' me, you're on a window shopping spreeBitch, you probably go broke at the Dollar TreeYou never buy shit, all you ever cop's a pleaYou're always punkin' out like HalloweenYou rather opt to flee, you need to stop it, punkHomie, you're not a G, act like you got the pumpAnd you're gonna cock the heat or get the Glock and dumpBitch, if you shot a tree, you wouldn't pop the trunkYeah, and I'm buddies with Alfred, we about toDisembowel them, gut 'em and scalp 'em, yeahThis is 'bout to be the bloodiest outcome'Cause we gon' make you bleed with every cut from this albumSo I'm choppin' 'em up like DahmerThe nut job with the nuts that are bigger than Jabba the HuttI'm in the cut, and I'm out for the bloodIt's lookin' like it's that time of the monthCarvin' 'em up with the bars while I sharpen 'em up, dog and a muttI'm gonna fuck your mom in the butt with a thermometer, fuckin' phenomenal, butY'all'll get cut the fuck up like abdominals if you don't vámonosI keep droppin' like dominos, the formidable, abominableStompin' a mudhole in my comp even if it's off the top of the domeSon 'em, get the Coppertone, I'm at the Stop and Go coppin' the Mop and GloGot your stomach in knots like you swallowed ropeYou out of pocket though, like a motherfuckin' wallet stole
Wait, why'd the beat cut off?Fuck it