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Eminem - Alfred’s Theme

Alfred’s Theme
Eminem
05:39
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  • Eminem
  • MP3 320Kbps
  • 12.95 Mb
  • 05:39

Song lyrics

[Verse 1:]
Before I check the mic (Check, check, one, two)
I give it a extra swipe with a Lysol disinfectant wipe, (Good evening)
Coronavirus in effect tonight,
Antiseptics on deck, I got every type. (Yeah)
I throw on my tux, then I (Yeah) give zero fucks, then I (Yeah)
Act like a jockstrap (Uh), cup my nuts, then I (Yeah)
Check my ball hair (What?), make sure it's all there, (Yeah)
Then call the pallbearer. (Yeah)
It's Music to Bе Murdered By again, why stop?
Overkill likе a pipe bomb in your pine box,
You're all hitched to my cock, (What?)
Went from punchin' a time clock to getting my shot,
Then treated it like a cyclops,
Like it's the only one I (Only one eye) got,
And my thoughts are like nines cocked, (Chk-chk)
Every line's obscene, pervertedest mind, got the dirtiest rhyme stocked,
That's why there's parental advising (Visine) every time I drop. (Eye drop)
So throw on the theme to Alfred, I'll channel him like the Panama Canal,
But how could I get up in arms about you saying trash is all that I put out?
Bitch, I still get the bag when I'm putting garbage out.
Plus, the potty mouth, I'm not about to wash it out,
The filthiest, so all this talk about I'm washed up, how preposterous,
Because if cleanliness is next to godliness,
It's obvious that it's impossible for me to be beside myself.
And I'm 'bout that capital like a proper noun,
Still on top the pile,
Got me sitting on numbers like a pocket dial,
Quick to call you out on your bullshit,
Don't make me give that crock a dial,
'Cause if I do it, see you later, alligator,
Made it out the trailer, then I made a vow to cater to no one,
So hate, I've gained about the same amount that's in my bank account,
So here's some more shit for you to complain about, I say the
Bars that never slack (Yeah), but always get attacked, (Yeah)
I think they're gunnin' for me, it's startin' to feel like that,
Like I'm marked, 'cause when I rap, it's like fallin' on my back in a tar pit
'Cause I have this target on my back. (Ew, yuck)
But if I ever double-crossed my fans and lost my Stans,
I'd probably pop five Xans, (Yeah)
Go in my garage, start my van,
Inhale as much carbon monoxide and exhaust I can,
And doze off like *snores*,
But odds like that, with these thoughts I have's like a giant getting squashed by ants,
If this is the test of time, I'd pass with flying colors,
Like I just tossed my crayons. (Tossed my crayons)
Small, medium, and large size cans,
Sanitizers of all types, brands, cost nine bands,
Which is a small price for Lysol wipes and
If my palms brush across my pants, I wash my hands.

[Interlude:]
Shit, hold on, man!
Motherfucker!
Happy birthday to—
Fuck! (Shh, quiet)

[Verse 2:]
I sit in silence in candlelit environments,
Sipping Wild Irish while getting violent,
Homicidal visions when I'm spitting like this
But really I'm just fulfilling my wish of killing rhymes,
Which is really childish and silly, but I'm really like this,
I'm giving nightmares to Billie Eilish, I'm Diddy's side bitch.

[Interlude:]
What the fuck? Hold on, wait!
"I'm Diddy's side bitch?"
Oh, I'm still east side, bitch!

[Verse 3:]
So 'til the E-N-D, since EPMD,
Been givin' y'all the business (Yeah), D-R-E and me, (Yup)
From the MMLP to MTBMB, (Bitch)
Bitch, it's 2020, you still ain't seein' me, (Haha)
So call me Santa Claus, (Santa Claus)
'Cause at the present (Yeah), I out-rap 'em all (Wrap 'em all), I'm at the mall,
Got your bitch in a bathroom stall, she could suck a basketball, (Uh)
Through a plastic straw (Yeah) with a fractured jaw, (Damn)
My dick is coat check (Ha), she wanna jack it off, (Yeah)
I'm so far past the bar, I should practice law,
Mentally, I'm fucked up generally (General Lee), (Duh)
Dukes of Hazzard car (Yeah), get the cadaver dogs
'Cause this is murder, murder and you'll get murked, murked,
This music 'bout to kill you, brr, brr, (Brr)
This chicken hit my phone, she said, "Chirp, chirp!"
I said, "Hut, hut, hike your skirt, skirt!"
Then go eat some worms, like the early bird,
What the fuck is love? That's a dirty word,
Make me fall in it, there's not a girl on Earth
Or any other planet, that's a world of hurt.
And I won't buy a designer, 'cause I don't pander, (Panda)
But I'm back with so many knots, I need a chiropractor, (Damn)
And this the final chapter (Why?), 'cause I'm either frying after (Oh)
Or they gon' give me the needle (What?) like a vinyl scratcher. (DJ)
Yeah, I'm a card, like Hallmark,
At Walmart with a small cart buying wall art,
And y'all who claim to be dogs aren't
No bite, like a tree, mostly just all bark, arf, arf,
But y'all pickin' the wrong tree, they call me dog because I'm barking, (Bar king, bark, bark, barking)
And I got a lot, yeah, like where cars park,
I'd describe it as bowling (Why?) ball hard. (Ball's hard)
'Cause the gutter's where my mind is and when
It's in this frame, better split like the five and the ten,
'Cause without a second to spare, I'm strikin' again,
And when the beat is up my alley, I go right for the pens. (Pins)
The cypher begins,
I'm talkin' smack like heroin, the mic's a syringe,
It's like a binge, Vicodin, I would liken to tin,
My mind is a recycling bin,
There's no place I never been
But I never budge and I never bend,
You hyperextend on me, this game's life, it depends
Like adult diapers for men,
Even when I'm rappin' less stellar,
It's sour grapes, I still whine, I'm the best seller. (Cellar)
Like a trey deuce, spray you as these shots penetrate through Dre's booth
And go straight through your grapefruit, no escape route,
So you won't leave here just scathed with a few scrape wounds,
Your ass is grass and I am not gonna graze you.
But if bars were semi-mac's, I'd be the Mad Hatter,
'Cause I got so many caps, and you don't have any straps, (Nah)
So you'd be a fitted (Yeah), so don't act like you fittin' to snap,
Bitch, I'll pee (P) on your head like a Phillies hat. (Haha)
No stoppin' me, you're on a window shopping spree,
Bitch, you probably go broke at the Dollar Tree,
You never buy shit, all you ever cop's a plea,
You're always punkin' out like Halloween,
You rather opt to flee, you need to stop it, punk,
Homie, you're not a G, act like you got the pump,
And you're gonna cock the heat or get the Glock and dump,
Bitch, if you shot a tree, you wouldn't pop the trunk.
Yeah, and I'm buddies with Alfred, we about to
Disembowel them, gut 'em and scalp 'em, yeah,
This is 'bout to be the bloodiest outcome
'Cause we gon' make you bleed with every cut from this album,
So I'm choppin' 'em up like Dahmer,
The nut job with the nuts that are bigger than Jabba the Hutt,
I'm in the cut, and I'm out for the blood,
It's lookin' like it's that time of the month,
Carvin' 'em up with the bars while I sharpen 'em up, dog and a mutt,
I'm gonna fuck your mom in the butt with a thermometer, fuckin' phenomenal, but
Y'all'll get cut the fuck up like abdominals if you don't vámonos,
I keep droppin' like dominos, the formidable, abominable,
Stompin' a mudhole in my comp even if it's off the top of the dome,
Son 'em, get the Coppertone, I'm at the Stop and Go coppin' the Mop and Glo,
Got your stomach in knots like you swallowed rope,
You out of pocket though, like a motherfuckin' wallet stole.

[Outro:]
Wait, why'd the beat cut off?
Fuck it!

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