Eminem - Alfred's Theme lyrics

Before I check the mic (Check, check, one, two) I give it an 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 fu*ks, 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 Be Murdered By again, why stop? Overkill like a pipe bomb in your pine box You're all hitched to my co*k (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 co*ked (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 Can*l But how could I get up in arms about you saying trash is all that I put out? b*tch, 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 bullsh*t Don't make me give that crock a dial 'Cause if I do, it's 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 sh*t for you to complain about, I say the Bars that never slack, 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 sh*t, hold on, man Motherfu*ker Happy birthday to— fu*k (Shh, quiet) 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 b*tch What the fu*k? Hold on, wait "I'm Diddy's side b*tch?" Oh, I'm still east side, b*tch So until the E-N-D, since EPMD Been givin' y'all the business (Yeah), D-R-E and me (Yup) From the MMLP to MTBMB (b*tch) b*tch, it's 2020, you still ain't seein' me (Haha) So call me Santa Clause (Santa Clause) 'Cause at the present (Yeah), I out-rap 'em all, I'm at the mall Got your b*tch in a bathroom stall, she could su*k 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 fu*ked 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 fu*k 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, 'cause I'm either frying after 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 b*tch, I'll pee (P) on your head like a Phillies hat (Haha) No stoppin' me, you're on a window shopping spree b*tch, you probably go broke at the Dollar Tree You never buy sh*t, 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 co*k the heat or get the Glock and dump b*tch, 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 fu*k your mom in the bu*t with a thermometer, fu*kin' phenomenal, but Y'all'll get cut the fu*k 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 motherfu*kin' wallet stole Wait, why'd the beat cut off? fu*k it