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Don't Front
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Shady Records
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artist(s): Eminem (feat. Buckshot)
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[Verse 1]
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Used to get, bent, now I represent to the fullest
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Pencil is full of insolent bullets
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I'm like a Doberman Pinscher, Pitbull and a Rott'
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Mixed with a toxic, the plot begins to thicken
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I begin to spitting like vintage Pac, demented
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Demonic sinister, ever since the the Doc replenished me
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The day he gave me that shot when I was just 'bout to quit
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So to not see him with me would be a shocking image
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And I'm the definition of what a concrete chin is
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Cause no matter how many times you sock me in it
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And knock me to the canvas, even the boxing critics
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Know that if I get off to a rocky start, I'll always have a Rocky finish
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Eat me brocoli, spinach, cocky? Nope
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But I hope I offended you when I told ya how dope I am at this
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And put emphasis on the "dope," so when names come up
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In that conversation of who's the dopest, better throw mine in it
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And don't mind me, while I remind you of the flow
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You won't find anywhere, when it fires and I unload my pen explodes
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'til there's no rhymes in it, reload in no time
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Let insults fly every sixty seconds that go by, so you know I meant it
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In school I was so shy, timid
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Two pairs of jeans I'd alternate, bummy clothes, I 'member
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Begging my mom for K-Mart MacGregors cause they were new
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St. Vincent de Paul, those Pony's were used, and no size fitted
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But kissed them old days, adios, I did it
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They said I was a gimmick, now I'm the one that those guys mimic
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Now you fuckers don't wanna go starting no argument
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Cause you know I'll win it, name a flow that's more authentic, and don't front
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[Hook: Buckshot]
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You know I got you open, kid, don't front
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You know I got you open, word, don't front
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You know I got you open, kid, yo why you fronting?
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You know I got you open, kid
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[Verse 2]
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Rest in peace to Big Proof, you was a beast, you lyrically mirrored me
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Molded my flow off of you, your spirit's flowing through me
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I love you, Doody, without you I feel so incomplete
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I'm no king, no need for rose petals to be thrown at my feet
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I'm a thorn in your side, get thrown into a throne
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Better watch the fucking tone that you speak, feel like I'm in the zone
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I'm in a whole different league on my mothafuckin' own, it's just me
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No opponents can compete, and I've never been known to retreat
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From beef, be beat, follow trends or wallow in defeat
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I'm still hungry as fuck, but can't even say bon appétit
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Cause I don't know what to eat, fucking microphone or the beat
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Bitch, nobody's mind works like mine
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It's nose to the grindstone time, holmes, your mind's blown
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Cause I rhyme like I'm still trying to get signed, up in the Ebony Show-
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-case with Denaun screaming "Who the fuck passed you the mic?"
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Never asked you like my shit from the get
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I'd rather ask you to wipe my ass, bitch
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You had you a nice run, now take a hike
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I ever meet my match, I'mma strike that bitch first
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Cause on the mic I gotta represent the real rappers
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The real rappers get their mothafuckin' skills cracking
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Word to Buckshot and Dru-Ha, why the fuck not?
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You don't like it? Suck a cock! Almost forgot
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Before I signed with the Doc, I almost signed with Duck Down
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Cause Rawkus didn't make no offers, so mothafuck Loud
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They jerked me around so what's up now?
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Wow, how much of an asshole would I sound like
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Rubbing it and holding some grudge now, but don't front
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[Hook]
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[Verse 3]
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Late at night, used to catch a buzz, couldn't write
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Now I write the type of shit to make you wipe
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But wear diapers cause you might leave a streak
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I'm on a streak windshield wipers couldn't wipe
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It's hard to decipher what cypher I might jump into tonight
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Cause I'm hyper or something, needing someone or something is lighting
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This fire under me, it's breathing new life, it's like I already died once
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I guess some people only live twice, and it's funny
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My days of being broke was so long ago, I lost my concept of money
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But you dimes won't get a fucking nickle from me
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Oh shit, I'm down on one knee
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I'm having a stroke of genius, Elizabeth I'm coming to you, honey
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From boy to man, and still make a whore moan like a thyroid gland
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I'm in another category, man, don't put me up with them pop stars
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I never needed a pat on the back to get at a boy, band
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No offense? Yes offense, precedents has been set that'll never get met
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Middle finger pressed against Moby's nose
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Shouts to Obie, the curtains closed on my show
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(But never forget that I'm the one you thought wouldn't make it)
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You can't take it, oh
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Got a whole generation of rappers coming up that are nutty with the flow
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But convince me you've heard
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An MC since me who's as good with the fucking mincing of words
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Without mincing words that'll make you feel like I'm pinching a nerve
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Whose mentally disturbed, you might as well stick a knife in me and turn
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It'll be like my skin being Indian burned
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Hah, bitch there isn't one, when will you learn?
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Never been served if memory serves
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I'd battle that 'til my own recollection remembers these words
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[Outro: Buckshot]
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You know I got you open kid, stop fronting
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You know I got you open, Word Life
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