Rhyme Or Reason Lyrics - The Marshall Mathers Lp 2 - Eminem

(What's your name?) Marshall 

(Who's your daddy?) I don't have one 

My mother reproduced like a komodo dragon 

And had me on the back of a motorcycle 

Then crashed in the side of loco-motive with rap, I'm loco 

It's like handing a psycho a loaded handgun 

Michelangelo with a paint gun in a tantrum 

'bout to explode all over the canvas 

Back with the Yoda of rap in a spasm 

(Your music usually has them) 

(But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't) 

(Follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan) 

A Jedi in training, colossal brain and, thoughts are entertaining 

But docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain and 

Probably find a way to complain about a Picasso painting 

Puke Skywalker, but sound like Chewbacca when I talk 

Full of such blind rage I need a seeing eye dog 

Can't even find the page, I was writing this rhyme on 

Oh, it's on a rampage, couldn't see what I wrote I write small 

It says ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with white walls 

Had a fire in my heart, and a dire desire to aspire, to Die Hard 

So as long as I'm on the clock punching this time card 

Related 

11 Delicious Misheard Lyrics About Food 

Watch Cardi B Joins James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

Hip hop ain't dying on my watch 

But sometimes, when I'm sleeping, she comes to me in my dreams 

Is she taken? Is she mine? Don't got, don't care, don't have two shits to give 

Let me take you by the hand to promise land 

And threaten everyone, cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing 

(What's your name?) Marshall 

(Who's your daddy?) I don't know him, but I wonder 

(Is he rich like me?) Ha-ha 

(Has he taken, any time, to show you what you need to live?) 

No! If he had, he wouldn't have ended up in these rhymes on my pad 

I wouldn't be so mad, my attitude wouldn't be so bad, yeah, dad 

I'm the epitome and the prime example of what happens 

When the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong hands, and 

Makes you want to get up and start dancing, even if it is Charles Manson 

Who just happens, to be rapping, blue lights flashing 

Laughing all the way to the bank, lamping in my K-Mart mansion 

I'm in the style department with a pile in my car, ripping the aisle apart 

With great power comes absolutely no responsibility, for content 

Completely, despondent and condescending, the king of nonsense 

And controversy is on a, beat killing spree, your honor, I must, plea, guilty 

Cause I sparked a, revolution, rebel without a cause 

Who caused the evolution of rap to take it to the next level, boost it 

But several rebuked it, and whoever produced it 

(Hip hop is the devil's music) Is that me? It belongs to me? 

Check Out 

Refresh Your Christmas Playlist With These 10 Modern Holiday Tracks 

26 Best Breakup Songs Of All Time 

From MetroLyrics to You: Our Classic Christmas Playlist 

Can You Guess The Song By The Emojis? 

Cause I just happen to be, a white honky devil with two horns 

That don't honk but every time I speak you, hear a beep? 

But lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisper 

Rappers better stay clear of me, bitch, cause it's the... 

It's the time of the season, when hate runs high 

And this time, give it to you easy, when I take back what's mine 

With pleasured hands, and torture everyone, that is my plan 

My job here isn't done, cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing 

(What's your name?) Shady 

(Who's your daddy?) I don't give a fuck, but I wonder 

(Is he rich like me?) Doubt it, ha 

(Has he taken, any time, to show you what you need to live?) 

So, yeah, dad let's walk, let's have us a father and son talk 

But I bet we probably wouldn't get one block 

Without me knocking your block off, this is all your fault 

Maybe that's why I'm always so bananas, I appeal to all those walks 

Of like, whoever had strife, maybe that's what dad and son talks are like 

Cause I, related to the struggles of young America 

When their fucking parents were unaware of their troubles 

Now they're ripping out their fucking hair again, it's hysterical 

I chuckle, cause everybody bloodies their bare knuckles, yeah, uh-oh 

Better beware knuckleheads, the sound of my hustle says don't knock 

The doors broken, it won't lock, it might just fly open, get cold cocked 

You critics come pay me a visit, misery loves company, please stay a minute 

Kryptonite to a hypocrite, zip your lip if you dish it but can't take it 

Too busy getting stoned in your glass house to kick rocks 

Then you wonder why I lash out, Mister Mathers as advertised on the flyers 

So spread the word cause I'm promoting my passion til I'm passed out 

A completely brain dead Rainman, going a bankhead in a restraint chair 

So bitch, if you shoot me a look it better be a blank stare 

Or get shanked in the pancreas, I'm angrier than all eight of the reindeer 

Put together with Chief Keef cause I hate every fucking thing, yeah 

Even this rhyme, bitch 

And quit tryna look for a fucking reason for it that ain't there 

But I still am a CRIMINAL 

Ten year old degenerate grabbing on my GENITALS 

The last Mathers LP that went diamond 

This time I'm predicting this one will go EMERALD 

When will the madness end, how can it when 

There's no method to the pad and pen 

The only message that I have to sing is: Dad, I'm back at it again, bitch