Rhyme Or Reason

Yeah, Yeah... Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

(What's your name?) Marshall

(Who's your daddy?) I don't have one

My mother reproduced like a komodo dragon

And had me on the back of a motorcycle

Then crashed in the side of loco-motive with rap, I'm loco

It's like handing a psycho a loaded handgun

Michelangelo with a paint gun in a tantrum

About to explode all over the canvas

Back with the Yoda of rap in a spasm

(Your music usually has them)

(But waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't

Follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan)

A Jedi in training, colossal brain and, thoughts of entertaining

But docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain and

Probably find a way to complain about a Picasso painting

(puke) Skywalker, but sound like Chewbacca when I talk

Full of such blind rage I need a seeing eye dog

Can't even find the page, I was writing this rhyme on, (oh..)

Its on a rampage, couldn't see what I wrote I write small

(It says) Ever since I drove a 79 Lincoln with white walls

Had a fire in my heart, and a dire desire to aspire, to DIE HARD

So as long as I'm on the clock punching this time card

Hip hop ain't dying on my watch

But sometimes, when I’m sleeping, she comes to me in my dreams

Is she taken? Is she mine? Don’t got, I don’t care, don’t have two shits to give

Let me take you by the hand, to promise land, and threaten everyone

Cause there’s no rhyme or no reason for nothing

Nah, (Whats your name?) Marshall

(Who’s your daddy?) I don’t know him, but I wonder

(Is he rich like me?) Haha

(Has he taken, any time, to show to show you what you need to live?)

NO

If he had, he wouldn’t have ended up in these rhymes on my pad

I wouldn’t be so mad, my attitude wouldn’t be so bad, yeah, dad

Uh, The epitome and the prime example of what happens

When the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong hands, and

Makes you want to get up and start dancing

Even if it is Charles Manson who just happens, To be rapping

Blue lights flashing, laughing all the way to the bank

Lamping in my K-Mart mansion, I’m in the style department

With a pile in my car, ripping the isle apart

With great power comes absolutely no responsiblity, for content

Completely, despondent, and conde-scen-ding

The king of nonsense and contro-versy in on, a

Beat killing spree, your honor, I must, plea

Guil-ty, cause I sparked a, Revolution

Rebel without a cause, who caused the evolution of rap

To take it to the next level, boost it

But several rebuked it, and whoever produced it…

(Hip hop is the devil's music) Is that me? It belongs to me?

Cuz I just happen to be, a white honky devil with two horns

That don't honk but every time I speak you, hear a beep?

But lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisper

Rappers better stay clear of me, bitch

Cause its the…

It's the time of the season, when hate runs high

And this time, I won't give it to you easy

When I take back what's mine with pleasured hands

And torture everyone, that is my plan

My job here isn't done

Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing So

(What's your name?) Shady

(Who's your daddy?) I don’t give a fuck, but I wonder

(Is he rich like me?) Doubt it, ha

(Has he taken, any time, to show you what you need to live?)

So yeah, Dad, let's walk

Let's have us a father and son talk

But I bet we wouldn't probably get one block

Without me knocking your block off, this is all your fault

Maybe that's why I'm so bananas, I a-ppealed to all those walks

Of life, Whoever had strife

Maybe that's what dad and son talks are like

Cause I, related to the struggles

Of young America when their fucking parents were unaware of their troubles

Now they're ripping out their fucking hair again, it's hysterical

I chuckle, as everybody bloodies their bare knuckles

Yeah uh-oh, better beware knuckle-

Heads, the sign of my hustle

Says "Don't knock"

The doors broken, it won't lock

It might just fly open, get cold-cocked

You critics come to pay me a visit?

Misery loves company, please stay a minute

Kryptonite to a hypocrite, zip your lip

If you dish it but can't take it, too busy getting

Stoned in your glass house, to kick rocks, then you wonder why I lash out

Mr. Mathers as advertised on the flyers, so spread the word cause I'm promoting my passion until I'm passed out

Completely brain dead, Rain Man

Doing the Bankhead in a restraint chair

So, bitch, shoot me a look, it better be a blank stare

Or get shanked in the pancreas, I'm angrier

Than all eight other reindeer

Put together with Chief Keef cause I hate every fucking thing, yeah

Even this rhyme, bitch, and quit trying look for a fucking reason for it that ain't there

But I still am a "Criminal!"

Ten-year-old degenerate grabbing on my genitals

The last Mathers LP done went diamond, this time I'm predicting this one will go emerald

When will the madness end, how can it when

There's no method to the pad and pen

The only message that I have to send

Is, Dad, I'm back at it again

Yeah... (Who's your daddy?)