[Intro]

What?

Did I hurt your feelings?

Uh, I'm 'posed to be scared now, right?

Yo, I'd like to dedicate this record right here

To Mr. Marshall Mathers' mother

Yeah

This one for your moms

[Verse]

Here come the mighty, one they call Whitey

All you sons of Whitey are all dickbiters

So won't that bitch Slim Shady please act up?

Get smacked up, get your eyes blacked up

With your candy-ass name, you're a candy-ass rapper

I'll smack you up, shut you off like The Clapper

Whoever said you was raw, son, they lied

I know that shit I spit on Dilated hurt your pride

Screamin' on a record how you wish I died

But you don't wanna see me on this physical side

You just a fake tough guy, tryna act hard

But won't walk a lobby without your bodyguard

You ain't pullin' my card, you ain't ridin' the train

Back in the day, kids like you got robbed for they chain

Step to me like a man, with the hands, get slain

Matter of fact, when you see me, bitch, gimme some brain

Yo, it's like that, we could fight, Jack

Let's put the mics down, you'll catch a beatdown

I get love in New York, got fam in L.A. 

And I heard you might be the MC that's gay

With your platinum blonde Caesar, you look like a ho

Like M&M stand for Marilyn Monroe

Talkin' 'bout killin' sprees, you ain't like that, yo

Makin' lots of enemies, but that's all for show

You punk ecstasy junkie, you waste of skills

Stop ridin' my dilz, stay high on pills

Boy, I hope you O.D., don't be playin' with me

Little bitch, need to watch what you sayin' to me

Talkin' shit for shock value, boy, you ain't real

Turned hard the day Dre gave you a record deal

You went and sold your soul for some mass appeal

Servin' up that hors d'oeuvre, kid, now eat this meal

Instead of worryin' 'bout who you should be dissin'

Need to worry 'bout who your wifey been kissin'

Or if you go to prison, while you doin' your bid

I'll look in on your lady and do things for your kid

Make her write you lots of letters 'bout the things that we did

Send you pictures of me chillin' all up in your crib

And that shit about Sway and Tech, that was a fib

First time you met me, I showed you love in D.C. 

But you were scared like a pussy, with your eyes on the floor

While your crew showed me love outside the front door

Talkin' 'bout "Yo, whassup, ain't you Whitey Ford?

I love that song 'What It's Like' and jam 'Praise The Lord'"

I don't do this for the money, yo, I do it for fun

You might hang around some gangstas, but you ain't one

And you won't be slappin' me with no empty gun

Talkin' 'bout a "fag," but you the one in drag

And you can't keep your woman from goin' astray

Better run and check your kid for your DNA

I take care of my moms, you get sued by yours

With your corny metaphors 'bout drugs and crack whores

You're a sucker

[Outro]

Word up, for real

You wanna talk some shit, money? Come talk it with the hands, B

I ain't wastin' no more time with you, man, fuck that shit, that's it

That's it