Eminem - Alfred's Theme (with Lyrics & Subtitles)
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Eminem - Alfred's Theme (en) Lyrics
by RentAnAdviser.com
Before I check the mic (Check,
check, one, two)
I give it a extra swipe with a Lysol
disinfectant wipe (Good evening)
Coronavirus in effect tonight
Antiseptics 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 Bе Murdered
By again, why stop?
Overkill likе a pipe bomb
in your pine box
You're all hitched to my cock (What?)
Went from punchin' a time
clock to getting my shot
Then treated it like a cyclops
Like it's the only one
I (Only one eye) got
And my thoughts are like
nines cocked (Chk-chk)
Every line's obscene, pervertedest mind,
got the dirtiest rhyme stocked
That'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 Canal
But 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 out
Plus, the potty mouth, I'm
not about to wash it out
The filthiest, so all this talk about
I'm washed up, how preposterous
Because if cleanliness
is next to godliness
It's obvious that it's impossible
for me to be beside myself
And I'm 'bout that capital
like a proper noun
Still on top the pile
Got me sitting on numbers
like a pocket dial
Quick to call you out on your bullshit
Don't make me give that crock a dial
'Cause if I do it, see
you later, alligator
Made it out the trailer, then I
made a vow to cater to no one
So hate, I've gained about the same
amount that's in my bank account
So here's some more shit for you
to complain about, I say the
Bars that never slack (Yeah), but
always get attacked (Yeah)
I think they're gunnin' for me, it's
startin' to feel like that
Like 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 Stans
I'd probably pop five Xans (Yeah)
Go in my garage, start my van
Inhale as much carbon monoxide
and exhaust I can
And doze off like
But odds like that, with these
thoughts I have's like a giant
getting squashed by ants
If this is the test of time,
I'd pass with flying colors
Like I just tossed my crayons
(Tossed my crayons)
Small, medium, and large size cans
Sanitizers of all types,
brands, cost nine bands
Which is a small price
for Lysol wipes and
If my palms brush across my
pants, I wash my hands
Shit, hold on, man
Motherfucker
Happy birthday to
Fuck (Shh, quiet)
I sit in silence in candlelit
environments
Sipping Wild Irish while
getting violent
Homicidal visions when I'm
spitting like this
But really I'm just fulfilling
my wish of killing rhymes
Which is really childish and silly,
but I'm really like this
I'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 'til the E-N-D, since EPMD
Been givin' y'all the business
(Yeah), D-R-E and me (Yup)
From the MMLP to (Huh?) MTBMB (Bitch)
Bitch, it's 2020, you still
ain't seein' me (Haha)
So call me Santa Claus (Santa Claus)
'Cause at the present (Yeah),
I out-rap 'em all (Wrap 'em
all), I'm at the mall
Got 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 law
Mentally, 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, murked
This 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 bird
What the fuck is love?
That's a dirty word
Make me fall in it, there's
not a girl on Earth
Or any other planet, that's
a world of hurt
And I won't buy her 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 (Why?), 'cause
I'm either frying after (Oh)
Or they gon' give me the needle (What?)
like a vinyl scratcher (DJ)
Yeah, I'm a card, like Hallmark
At Walmart with a small
cart buying wall art
And y'all who claim to be dogs aren't
No bite, like a tree, mostly
just all bark, arf, arf
But 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 park
I'd describe it as bowling (Why?)
ball hard (Ball's hard)
'Cause the gutter's where
my mind is and when
It's in this frame, better split
like the five and the ten
'Cause without a second to
spare, I'm strikin' again
And when the beat is up my alley,
I go right for the pens (Pins)
The cypher begins
I'm talkin' smack like heroin,
the mic's a syringe
It's like a binge, Vicodin,
I would liken to tin
My mind is a recycling bin
There's no place I never been
But I never budge and I never bend
You hyperextend on me, this
game's life, it depends
Like adult diapers for men
Even when I'm rappin' less stellar
It'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 booth
And go straight through your
grapefruit, no escape route
So you won't leave here just scathed
with a few scrape wounds
Your ass is grass and I
am not gonna graze you
But 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 snap
Bitch, I'll pee (P) on your head
like a Phillies hat (Haha)
No stoppin' me, you're on
a window shopping spree
Bitch, you probably go broke
at the Dollar Tree
You never buy shit, all
you ever cop's a plea
You're always punkin'
out like Halloween
You rather opt to flee, you
need to stop it, punk
Homie, you're not a G, act
like you got the pump
And you're gonna cock the heat
or get the Glock and dump
Bitch, if you shot a tree, you
wouldn't pop the trunk
Yeah, and I'm buddies with
Alfred, we about to
Disembowel them, gut 'em
and scalp 'em, yeah
This is 'bout to be the
bloodiest outcome
'Cause we gon' make you bleed with
every cut from this album
So I'm choppin' 'em up like Dahmer
The nut job with the nuts that are
bigger than Jabba the Hutt
I'm in the cut, and I'm
out for the blood
It's lookin' like it's that
time of the month
Carvin' 'em up with the bars while
I sharpen 'em up, dog and a mutt
I'm gonna fuck your mom in the
butt with a thermometer,
fuckin' phenomenal, but
Y'all will get cut the fuck up like
abdominals if you don't vámonos
I keep droppin' like dominos,
the formidable, abominable
Stompin' a mudhole in my comp even
if it's off the top of the dome
Son 'em, get the Coppertone,
I'm at the Stop and Go
coppin' the Mop and Glo
Got your stomach in knots
like you swallowed rope
You out of pocket though, like
a motherfuckin' wallet stole
Wait, why'd the beat cut off?
Fuck it
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