The Ringer Lyrics – Eminem
“The Ringer” sees Eminem continuing his criticism of the state of hip-hop in 2018, focusing especially on mumble rappers, some of whom he calls out by names like Lil Xan and Lil Pump.| Song Name : | The Ringer |
| Album / Movie : | Kamikaze |
| Singer : | Eminem |
| Music Label : | Aftermath Entertainment |
| Cast : | Eminem |
Yeah (Illa)Yo, I’m just gonna write down my first thoughtsAnd see where this takes me‘Cause I feel like I wanna punch the worldIn the fuckin’ face right nowYeah
Let me explain just how to make greatnessStraight out the gate, I’m ’bout to break it downAin’t no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake, I’m ’boutTo rape the alphabet, I may raise some browsIf I press the issue just to get the anger out (Brrr!)Full magazine could take Staples outSavage but ain’t thinkin’ ’bout no bank accountBut bitch, I’m off the chain like Kala Brown
Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I’m talkin’, lil’ bitchI’m sorry, wait, what’s your talent? Oh, critiquin’My talent? Oh, bitch, I don’t know who the fuck y’all areTo give a sub-par bar or even have an opinion or viewYou mention me, millions of views, attention in newsI mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for youBillions of views, your ten cents are two
Skim through the music to give shit reviewsTo get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuseDon’t get misconstrued, business as us’Shit-list renewed, so get shit to doOr get dissed ’cause I just don’t getWhat the fuck half the shit is that you’re listenin’ to
Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flowEveryone copies though? Prob’ly noGet this fuckin’ audio out my Audi, yo, adiósI can see why people like Lil Yachty, but not me thoughNot even dissin’, it just ain’t for meAll I am simply is just an emceeMaybe Stan just isn’t your cup of tea (Get it?)Maybe your cup’s full of syrup and lean
Maybe I need to stir up shit, preferablyShake the world up if it were up to mePaul wants me to chill, y’all want me to illI should eat a pill, probably I willOld me killed the new me, watch him bleed to deathI breathe on the mirror, I don’t see my breathPossibly I’m dead, I must be possessedLike an evil spell, I’m E-V-I-L (Evil, spelled)
Jam a Crest Whitestrip in the tip of my dickWith an ice pick, stick it in a vise gripHang it on a spike fence, bang it with a pipe wrenchWhile I take my ball sack and flick it like a light switchLike Vice President Mike PenceBack up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike stripThese are things that I’d rather do than hear you on a micSince nine tenths of your rhyme is about ice andJesus Christ, man, how many times isSomeone gonna fuck on my bitch? (Fuck my side chick!)
You won’t ever see Em icyBut as cold as I get on the M-I-CI polarize shit, so the Thames might freezeAnd your skull might split like I bashed you upside itBitch, 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 shutNow when it doesn’t matter what caliberI spit at, I’ll bet a hundred thousand bucksYou’ll turn around and just be like, man, how the fuckSourpuss gonna get mad just ’cause his album sucks?And now he wants to take it out on us (Ooouuu)
But last week, an ex-fan mailed me a copyOf The Mathers LP to tell me to studyIt’ll help me get back to myself and she’ll love me (Oooouuu)I mailed the bitch back and said if I did thatI’d just be like everyone else in the fuckin’ industryEspecially an effing Recovery clone of me (NFing)
So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Igg’ Azae’Lil Pump, Lil Xan imitate Lil WayneI should aim at everybody in the game, pick a nameI’m fed up with bein’ humbleAnd rumor is I’m hungry, I’m sure you heard rumblings
I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomachI heard your mumblin’ but it’s jumbled in mumbo-jumboThe era that I’m from will pummel you, that’s what it’s comin’ toWhat the fuck you’re gonna do when you run into it?I’m gonna crumble you and I’ll take a number twoAnd dump on you, if you ain’t JoynerIf you ain’t Kendrick or Cole or Sean, then you’re a gonerI’m ’bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it
I guess when you walk into BK you expect a WhopperYou can order a Quarter Pounder when you go to McDonald’sBut if you’re lookin’ to get a porterhouse you better go get RevivalBut y’all are actin’ like I tried to serve you up a sliderMaybe the vocals shoulda been auto-tunedAnd you woulda bought it
But sayin’ I no longer got it‘Cause you missed a line and never caught it‘Cause it went over your headBecause you’re too stupid to get it‘Cause you’re mentally retardedBut pretend to be the smartest
With your expertise and knowledgeBut you’ll never be an artistAnd I’m harder on myselfThan you could ever be regardlessWhat I’ll never be is flawless, all I’ll ever be is honestEven when I’m gone they’re gonna say I brought itEven when I hit my forties like a fuckin’ alcoholicWith a bottle full of malt liquorBut I couldn’t bottle this shit any longerThe 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 feetI don’t see why y’all even started with meI get in beefs, my enemies dieI don’t cease fire ’til at least all are deceasedI’m east side, never be caught slippin’Now you see why I don’t sleep, not even a wink, I don’t blinkI don’t doze off, I don’t even nod to the beatsI don’t even close my fuckin’ eyes when I sneeze
Aw, man! That BET cypher was weak, it was garbageThe Thing ain’t even orange, oh my God, that’s a reach!Shout to all my colorblind peopleEach and everyone of y’all, if you call a fire engine greenAquamarine, or you think water is pinkDawg, that’s a date, looks like an olive to meLook, there’s an apple, no, it’s not, it’s a peach
So finger-bang, Pootie TangBurger King, Gucci Gang, dookie, dangCharlamagne gonna hate anyway, doesn’t matter what I sayGive me Donkey of the DayWhat a way for 2018 to get underwayBut I’m gonna say everything that I wanna say
Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch! (Yeah)Invite ’em in like a One A DayI’m not done (Preach!)‘Cause I feel like the beast of burdenThat line in the sand, was it even worth it?‘Cause the way I see people turning’sMakin’ it seem worthless, it’s startin’ to defeat the purpose
I’m watchin’ my fan base shrink to thirdsAnd I was just tryin’ to do the right thing, but wordHas the court of public opinion reached a verdictOr still yet to be determined?‘Cause I’m determined to be me, critiqued or worshippedBut if I could go back, I’d at least reword itAnd say I empathize with the people this evil serpentSold the dream to that he’s deserted
But I think it’s workin’These verses are makin’ him a wee bit nervousAnd he’s too scurred to answer me with words‘Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murderedBut I know at least he’s heard it‘Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret ServiceTo meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin’ himOr ask if I’m linked to terroristsI said, only when it comes to ink and lyricistsBut my beef is more media journalists(Hold up, hold up, hold up)
I said my beef is more meaty, a journalistCan get a mouthful of fleshAnd yes, I mean eatin’ a penis‘Cause they been pannin’ my album to deathSo I been givin’ the media fingersDon’t wanna turn this to a counseling seshBut they been puttin’ me through the ringerSo I ain’t ironin’ shit out with the pressBut I just took this beat to the cleaners