Remember Me? - Eminem, RBX, Sticky Fingaz

For this one it’s the X, you retarded?

Cause I grab the mic and get DOWN, like Syndrome

Hide and roam into the masses, without boundaries

Which qualifies me for the term «universal»

Without no rehearsal, I leak words that’s controversial

Like I’m not, the one you wanna contest, see

Cause I’ll hit yo' a*s like the train did that b*tch

That got «Banned From TV» — heavyweight hitter

Hit you watch your whole head split up

Loco-is-the-motion, we comin through

Hollow tips is the lead, the .45 threw

Remember me?

(«Throw ya gunz in the air!»)

Remember me?

(«Slam! Slam!»)

Remember me?

(«Nigga 'Bacdafucup'»)

Remember me?

(«Chka-chka-Onyx!»)

Niggaz that take no for an answer, get told no

Yeah I been told no but it was more like, «No, no, no!»

Life a b*tch that’ll f*ck you if you let her

Better come better than better to be a competitor

This vet is ahead of

The shit is all redder, you deader and deader

A medic instead-a the cheddars and credda

Settle vendetta one metal beretta from ghetto to ghetto

Evidence?

NOPE!

Never leave a shred-of

I got the soul of every rapper in me, love me or hate me

My moms got raped by the industry and made me

I’m the illest nigga ever, I told you

I get more pus*y than them dyke b*tches Total

Want beef, nigga?

PBBT!

You better dead that sh*t

My name should be «Can't-Believe-That-Ni*ga-Said-That-Shit»

Probably sayin, «He ain’t a killer», but I’m killin myself

Smoke death, f*ck b*tches raw, on the kitchen floor

So think what I’ma do to you, have done to you

Got nig*gaz in my hood who’d do that sh*t for a blunt or two

What you wanna do, cocksuckers?

We glock busters

'Til the cops cuff us, we’ll start ruckus and drop blockbusters

'Round the clock hustlers, you cannot touch us

I’m gettin wires niggaz wantin me dead, wantin my head

You think it could be somethin I said?

Remember me?

(«I just don’t give a fuck!»)

Remember me?

(«Yeah, f*ck you too!»)

Remember me?

(«I'm low down and I’m shifty!»)

Remember me?

(«I'm Shady!»)

When I go out, I’ma go out shootin

I don’t mean when I die, I mean when I go out to the club, stupid

I’m tryin to clear up my f*ckin' image

so I promised the f*ckin critics

I wouldn’t say «f*ckin» for six minutes

(*click* Six minutes, Slim Shady, you’re on)

My baby’s mom, b*tch made me an angry blonde

So I made me a song, killed her and put Hailie on

I may be wrong, I keep thinkin these crazy thoughts

In my cranium, but I’m stuck with a crazy mom

(«Is she really on as much dope as you say she’s on?»)

Came home, and somebody musta broke in the back window

And stole two loaded machine guns and both of my trenchcoats

Sick sick dreams of picnic scenes, two kids, sixteen

With M-16's and ten clips each

And them shits reach through six kids each

And Slim gets blamed in Bill Clint’s speech to fix these streets?

F*CK THAT!

PBBT!

Tou faggots can vanish to volcanic ash

And re-appear in hell with a can of gas, AND a match

Aftermath, Dre, grab the gat, show 'em where it’s at

(What the fuck you starin at, ni*ga?)

Don’t you remember me?

Remember me?

Remember me?

REMEMBER ME!