The Ringer Lyrics - Eminem

Yo 

Yo, I'm just gonna write down 

my first thoughts 

and see where this takes me. 

'Cause I feel like I wanna punch the world 

in the fuckin' face right now 

Yeah 

Let me explain just how to make greatness 

Straight out the gate, I'm 'bout to break you down 

Ain't no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake I'm 'bout 

To rape the alphabet, I may raise some brows 

If I press the issue just to get the anger out (blllt) 

Full magazine could take Staples out 

Savage but ain't thinking 'bout no bank account 

But bitch I'm off the chain like Taylor Brown 

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Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I'm talkin', lil' bitch 

I'm sorry, wait, what's your talent? Oh, critiquin' 

My talent? Oh, bitch I don't know who the fuck y'all are 

To give a sub-par bar 

Even have an opinion if you, you mention me 

Millions of views, attention the news 

I mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for you 

Billions of views, your ten cents are two 

Skim through the music to give a shit reviews 

To get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuse 

Don't get misconstrued, business as us' 

Shit-list renewed, so get shit to do 

Or get dissed 'cause I just don't get what the fuck half the shit is that you're listening t-to 

Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow 

Everyone copies though? Probably no 

Get this fuckin' audio out my Audi, yo, adios 

I can see why people like Lil Yachty, but not me though 

Not even dissin', it just ain't for me 

All I am simply is just an emcee 

Maybe "Stan" just isn't your cup of tea 

Maybe your cup's full of syrup and lean 

Maybe I need to stir up shit, 

preferably shake the world up if it were up to me 

Paul wants me to chill, y'all want me to ill 

I should eat a pill, probably I will 

Old me kill the new me, watch him bleed to death 

I breathe on the mirror, I don't see my breath 

Possibly I'm dead, I must be possessed 

Like an evil spell, I'm E-V-I-L (evil, but spelled) 

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Jam a Crest white strip in the tip of my dick with an ice pick 

Stick it in a vice grip, hang it on a spike fence 

Bang it with a pipe wrench 

While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch 

Like vice-president Mike Pence 

Back up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike strip 

These are things that I'd rather do than hear you on a mic 

Since nine-tenths of your rhyme is about ice and 

Jesus Christ man, how many times is someone gonna fuck on my bitch? (Fuck my side chick!) 

You will never see Em icy, but as cold as I get on the M-I-C 

I polarize shit so the Thames might freeze 

And your skull might split like I bashed you upside it 

Bitch I got the club on smash like a nightstick (yeah) 

Turn down for what? I ain't loud enough 

Nah, turn the valium up 

'Cause I don't know how I'm gonna get your mouths to shut now 

When it doesn't matter what caliber I spit at 

I'll bet a hundred thousand bucks 

you'll just turn around and just be like 

"Man, how the fuck sourpuss gonna get mad 

just 'cause his album sucks 

and now he wants to take it out on us?" 

(ooh) 

But last week, 

an ex-fan mailed me a copy of The Mathers LP to tell me to study 

It'll help me get back to myself and she'll love me (ooh) 

I mailed the bitch back and said if I did that 

I'd just be like everyone else in the fucking industry 

Especially an effing Recovery clone of me 

So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Iggy 'zae 

Lil Pump, Lil Xan imitate Lil Wayne 

I should aim at everybody in the game, pick a name 

I'm fed up with being humble 

And rumor is I'm hungry 

I'm sure you heard bumblings 

I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach 

I heard your mumbling but it's jumbled in mumbo-jumbo 

The era that I'm from will pummel you 

That's what it's comin' to 

What the fuck are you gonna do, where you runnin' to? 

I'm gonna crumble you and I'll take a number two 

And dump on you if you ain't Joyner 

If you ain't Kendrick or Cole 

Or Sean then you're a goner 

I'm 'bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it 

I guess when you walk into BK, you expect a Whopper 

You can order a quarter pounder when you go to McDonald's 

But if you're lookin' to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival 

But y'all are acting like I tried to serve you up a slider 

Maybe the vocals should have been auto-tuned and you would have bought it 

But sayin' I no longer got it 'cause you missed the line and never caught it 

'Cause it went over your head, because you're too stupid to get it 

'Cause you're mentally retarded but pretend to be the smartest 

With your expertise and knowledge, but you'll never be an artist 

And I'm harder on myself than you could ever be, regardless 

What I'll never be is flawless, all I'll ever be is honest 

Even when I'm gone they're gonna say I brought it 

Even when I hit my forties like a fuckin' alcoholic 

With a bottle full of malt liquor 

But I couldn't bottle this shit any longer 

The fact that I know that I'ma hit my bottom if I don't 

Pull myself from the jaws of defeat 

And rise to my feet 

I don't see why y'all even started with me 

I get impeached 

My enemies die 

I don't ceasefire till at least all are deceased 

I'm eastside, never be caught slippin' 

Now you see why I don't sleep 

Not even a wink, I don't blink 

I don't doze off, I don't even nod to the beats 

I don't even close my fuckin' eyes when I sneeze 

"Aw, man! 

That BET cypher was weak, it was garbage 

The Thing ain't even orange 

Oh my God, that's a reach" 

Shout to all my colorblind people 

Each and every one of y'all 

If you call a fire engine green, aquamarine 

Or you think water is pink 

"Dawg, that's a date" 

"Looks like an olive to me" 

"Look, there's an apple" 

"No it's not, it's a peach!" 

So finger-bang, Pootie Tang, Burger King, Gucci Gang 

Charlamagne gonna hate anyway 

Doesn't matter what I say 

Give me Donkey of the Day 

What a way for 2018 to get underway 

But I'm gonna say everything that I wanna say 

Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch! (yeah) 

Invite them in like a one a day 

I'm not done (preach) 

'Cause I feel like the beast of burden 

That line in the sand, was it even worth it? 

'Cause the way I see people turnin' 

Is makin' it seem worthless 

It's startin' to defeat the purpose 

I'm watchin' my fan base shrink to thirds 

And I was just trying to do the right thing, but word 

Has the court of public opinion reached a verdict 

Or still yet to be determined? 

'Cause I'm determined to be me, critique the worship 

But if I could go back, I'd at least reword it 

And say I empathize with the people this evil serpent sold the dream to that he's deserted 

But I think it's workin' 

These verses are makin' him a wee bit nervous 

And he's too scared to answer me with words 

'Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered 

But I know at least he's heard it 

'Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service 

To meet in person 

To see if I really think of hurtin' him 

Or ask if I'm linked to terrorists 

I said, "Only when it comes to ink and lyricists" 

But my beef is more media journalists 

(Hold up, hold up, hold up) 

I said my beef is more meaty, a journalist 

They can get a mouthful of flesh 

And yes, I mean eating a penis 

'Cause they been panning my album to death 

So I been giving the media fingers 

Don't wanna turn this to a counselling sesh 

But they been puttin' me through the ringer 

So I ain't ironin' shit out with the press 

But I just took this beat to the cleaners