Bet Shady 2.0 Cypher Lyric - Eminem Ft Joe Budden, Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5’9″ and Yelawolf


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  • Bet Shady 2.0 Cypher Lyric - Eminem Ft Joe Budden, Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5’9″ and Yelawolf
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    Bet Shady 2.0 Cypher Lyric - Eminem Ft Joe Budden, Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5’9″ and Yelawolf


    [Eminem:]
    Welcome to Detroit
    This is the BET Shady 2.0 Cypher 2011
    Myself, Slaughterhouse and Yelawolf
    White dog, get em!

    [Yelawolf:]
    Put these muthafuckas in a box and I send ‘em away
    Put 'em in a gray 'Lac and pop the trunk
    Hey throw 'em in the back, jack, I dig ‘em a grave
    Put a brick inside that Xerox, when I print ‘em a page
    Moving keys I can't relate, cause I live in a cage
    I throw up the A, I take ‘em to school,
    I give em a grade, an easy E for effort
    That's WWA, white with an attitude
    Alphabet soup is on my plate
    All I got is Z’s they sleeping on me, I can’t get ‘em awake
    I spoon feed them the sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
    Who believe they making it rain cause all they see is the clouds
    And I watch from the couch of the VIP
    Like a potato with a bunch of meatheads like fuck it
    I just feed em a cow
    Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
    But before you can pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
    Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
    But what it's like to pick a fight with me
    It’s like putting Nikes on a cheetah, betta speed up
    Or at least in my case Addidas
    I'm out this bitch drinking Sprite by the 2 liter
    Holler, Shady records

    [Joe Budden:]
    Say I’m from the new school, I’ma say check ya tone and watch ya mouth
    If they teaching how to dougie, I’m condoning dropping out
    Forced to wile, y'all birthed and gave me up
    I just perfected being hip hops foster child, now check it
    I don’t blame y’all for being trash fans and copping it
    The radio’s the crime scene the masses are the hostages
    In my youth I'd throw shots, the fan would dodging it
    I’m grown, I ain't watching the throne, I’m sabotaging it
    You see that four headed monster and the storm looms
    Snipe ‘em from a distance, the scope got a long zoom
    You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
    Got a figure here you won’t get bigger if you on shrooms
    Was left to me I'd revive what the game be ’bout
    I’da took the wine outta Amy house
    Enough raps from you scrub cats about cocking a snub back
    Wayne couldn’t teach me how to love that
    But I got this shit from uptown, she my summer bunny
    Both parents broke but she comes from money
    Think my bread is her paper to burn
    So I lock her out and now she doubt David is Stern
    She so bad I make her hit the telly from a taxi
    Then dead her in that Holiday Inn
    Learnt that from Max B
    That's why the haters of every kind wanna send me Llamas
    I made it right before they eyes like I was Benihanas
    Is it me? Or is what I'm hearing just pitiful?
    Airwaves the same now the stereo’s typical
    My skin thick so the critics ignore
    So unafraid to die you think I did it before
    The boys Rodman with the trash talk
    Magical walk with the black ball way I bounce off the asphalt with cat paws
    Glass jaw, hoody and mask would be the black folk with no passport
    Body be found in the mansion in one of my trap doors
    If pumps had awards ya status whore category
    Probably be that of awards 'tween Michael Rappaport and Kenny Lattimore
    I know hip hops alive and well
    If it died, you other crews wouldn’t survive the smell

    (Ladies & Gentlemen... you're scared now)
    (Make that face at 'em dawg)
    (Crooked I.. get 'em)

    [Crooked I:]
    I spot a victim, the plot’ll thicken when the clock is tickin'
    I caught em slippin', I gotta give em a shot, I hit em with proper spittin'
    Hottest writtens and compositions, so competition's a contradiction
    Somebody mentioned they got it crooked, highly fiction,
    We probably different, got Gotti henchmen,
    Opposition our body quick as Bugatti engines
    I’m on a mission to get richer,
    The sickest lyric kicker diggin' a ditch for different spitters
    Sweet lyricists get disfigured, sip liquor
    Spit like a sick mixture
    Of Notorious Pun and L get the big picture
    The poster I’ll roast ya,
    My mind so deadly it’s just like the beanie is close to a holster
    It’s over control my whole coastal region like I’m supposed to
    Flow is going postal evening, open season
    Heart close to freezing, ruthless is easy nigga
    Approach I’m squeezing, believe me
    Dopest West Coaster breathing
    So most y'all hope I’m vegan, no pun, beefing
    Rappers need to keep it trill
    Give me a beat to kill too many people still eating sleeping pills
    People sleeping on my ether skills
    And y'all ain't even real
    We about to die in this cypher
    Before you die you should do the Jada and leave a Will
    Foreal

    [Joeel Ortiz:]
    Yaooowa
    I ain't a rap dude, I’m a dude who rap
    Before this I was moving crack
    Killers y’all become when y’all rhyme, I salute and dap
    And if I blink then remove ya snaps, you ain't cool you wack
    With ya foolish yac’s? skinny jeans don't mean ya ass shoot
    It means ya booty claps
    Don’t play like Tyler Perry, this the Slaughterhouse of Pain
    Flow brown, tight and heavy
    When it comes to sixteen’s I’m a fiend feinding a studio
    Near a needle with a mean lean, probably writing bars to Nas "Thief theme"
    Getting my Yaowa on, may all the Olajuwon’s be the dream team
    This is an all day slaughter
    They feindin for us to break like Beyonce’s water
    The four quarters doing all the eating
    And you gotta know why I made the cut, I’m Puerto Rican
    Ortiz keep the fire ready
    And tryna put me out’s like tryna steal a transvestite from Eddie

    [Royce Da 5'9':]
    I’m do or die dope
    And you can make the sticker sittin' on the door
    Of that phantom your suicide note
    Hi Rihanna..
    Is Nicki living with you? Let me know
    So I can buy binoculars and telescopes
    Hi Rihanna..
    I don’t need to know you better
    You tell me you love my music again, we go together
    Bye Rihanna...
    Now back to y’all fools
    We rock out like the outside of a guitar school
    Thousand dollar frames, I prefer to see the world through
    Don’t ask me nothing bout Budden, I beat my girl too
    You ask me why do I keep her? I say it’s cheaper to
    That’s why I ride around in a Rolls like Wiz Khalifa do
    Rappers, I’m your daddy, I tell you straight as this
    You don’t kill but your father Will like Jaden Smith
    I tell ya like I tell my Spanish chick
    You fly but I ain’t going down on no landing strip
    So get your wax on like Daniel-son
    Or I’ma have to run like De La Hoya in drag when cameras come
    Point out the greatest rapper alive I headshot ‘em
    Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some red bottom
    Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
    While I’m cyber sexing with Jessica Alba, via Skype
    I’m on my d-boy, d-bo thing
    Spiritual steelo swing like Cee-Lo Green
    Get out the camera with yo B Roll bling
    You know your flow is whack
    We cornered the market like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac
    Yeah, this what 2 million singles sold and a album that’s gold
    Look like, without having to sell your soul
    Nickle

    [Eminem:]
    Wait, can I rap?

    (You da Boss, you better get 'em)

    Ayo... lyrical miracle spiritual individual criminal subliminal
    In your swimmin' pool

    (Boo.. come on man, get back on.. kick that shit)

    You ’bout to see peace destroyed
    It’ll never be restored
    When I unleash these beastly hoards on your CD stores
    Wanna stop it, you gon' need a priest and at least three swords
    A license to ill from the Beastie Boys, 3 Ouija boards
    And a squeegee and please be warned don’t ask for the squeegees for
    Or the holy water, acid rap that’ll eat these floors
    Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns?
    And as for me, you ask when I’m gone "will he be mourned?"
    Is puke luke warm? Should Casey Anthony do porn?
    Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a freakin' shoebox
    With a shoehorn, smothered in chloroform so she can go get her groove on?
    Can she duct tape and Velcro a fetus? Joell yo,
    Tell Joe I need his empty box from his old shell toe adidas
    So I can put these babies in the fetal position,
    They’re getting elbows to the penis
    Yeah, big deal. I took some little kids big wheel
    And spit in his fricken big kids meal
    Quit tryna bite me and pinch, you wench, sit still
    You just put your six inch heel through my Benz windshield?
    Is it dust we bout to kick up?
    Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup?
    Between a stick shift in his fricken pick up
    And drink like a hick, redneck, hillbilly will till he gets hiccups?
    Flippin' the script up like Mike Vick
    Get bit in his junk by a pit, yup I’m a sick pup
    I’d be a horrible magician
    Cause I’d fuck that trick up
    Fix ya lips up to say something fly, or zip up
    A-B? Let’s C. You said you were gonna do X-Y-Z
    Till you fuck around and get dropped like an E
    When you add an I-N-G
    Don’t put a K in front of that though, when I MC
    Cause I’m not the king of this microphone booth
    It’s more like a phonebooth
    Superman in this bitch, kryptonite won’t do
    It gives me more power, I bump the fat boys and
    Eat rat poison, take meteor showers
    Fresh outta the mental hospital and me not flossing a middle finger
    While I hop in a mosh pit, will be like Nas doing gospel or R&B, you crazy?
    Me pushing up daisies? That thought is impossible
    As if flashing across the news, Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute
    With a huge Johnson, boobs, and a monstrous tube of lube
    And a bra, some boots, some panties, in an aqua blue Mazda
    Swallowing a popsicle, playing tonsil pool
    So kill the rumors it ain’t happenin'
    I’ma rap till I’m fossil fuel

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