WWE Trollstar

Rhyme Or Reason

[Verse 1:]
(What's your name?) Marshall
(Who's your daddy?) I don't have one
My mother reproduced like the Komodo Dragon
And had me on the back of a motorcycle
Then crashed in the side of locomotive 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 entertainingBut docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain andProbably find a way to complain about a Picasso paintingPuke Skywalker, but sound like Chewbacca when I talkFull of such blind rage I need a seeing eye dogCan'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 wallsHad a fire in my heart, and a dire desire to aspire, to die hardSo as long as I'm on the clock punching this time cardHip hop ain't dying on my watch[Hook:]But sometimes, when I'm sleeping, she comes to me in my dreamsIs she taken? Is she mine? Don't got, I don't care, don't have two shits to giveLet me take you by the hand, to promise land, and threaten everyone'Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing[Bridge:]Nah, (What's your name?) Marshall(Who's your daddy?) I don't know him, but I wonder(Is he rich like me?) Ha ha(Has he taken, any time, to show you what you need to live?)NO[Verse 2:]If he had, he wouldn't have ended up in these rhymes on my padI wouldn't be so mad, my attitude wouldn't be so bad, yeah, dadI'm the epitome and the prime example of what happensWhen the power of the rhyme falls into the wrong hands, andMakes you want to get up and start dancingEven if it is Charles Manson who just happens, to be rappingBlue lights flashing, laughing all the way to the bankLamping in my K-Mart mansion, I'm in the style departmentWith a pile in my cart, ripping the aisle apartWith great power comes absolutely no responsibility, for contentCompletely, despondent, and condescendingThe king of nonsense and controversy is on aBeat killing spree, your honor, I must pleadGuilty, 'cause I sparked a revolutionRebel without a cause, who caused the evolution of rapTo take it to the next level, boost itBut several rebuked it, and whoever produced it(Hip hop is the devil's music) Is that me? It belongs to me?'Cause I just happen to be, a white honky devil with two hornsThat don't honk but every time I speak you, hear a beep?But lyrically I never hear a peep, not even a whisperRappers better stay clear of me, bitch'Cause it's the…[Hook]It's the time of the season, when hate runs highAnd this time I won't give it to you easyWhen I take back what's mine, with pleasured handsAnd torture everyone, that is my plan, my job here isn't done'Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing[Bridge:](Whats 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?)[Verse 3:]So yeah dad let's walkLet's have us a father and son talkBut I bet we wouldn't probably get one blockWithout me knocking your block offThis is all your faultMaybe that's why I'm so bananasI appeal to all those walks of lifeWhoever had strifeMaybe that's what dad and son talks are like'Cause I related to the struggles of Young AmericaWhen their fucking parents were unaware of their troublesNow they're ripping out their fucking hair againIt's hysterical, I chuckle'Cause everybody bloodies their bare knucklesYeah, uh oh, better beware knuckle headsThe sign on my hustle says "Don't knock"The door's broken, it won't lockIt might just fly open, get cold-cockedYou critics come pay to me a visitMisery loves company, please stay a minuteKryptonite to a hypocriteZip your lip if you dish it but can't take itToo busy getting stoned in your glass houseTo kick rocks, then you wonder why I lash outMister Mathers as advertised on the flyersSo spread the word 'cause I'm promoting my passion 'til I'm passed outCompletely brain dead RainmanDoing the Bankhead in a restraint chairSo bitch, shoot me a look it better be a blank stareOr get shanked in the pancreas, I'm angrier thanAll 8 of the reindeer put together with Chief Keef'Cause I hate every fucking thing, yeahEven this rhyme bitch, and quit tryna lookFor a fucking reason for it that ain't thereI still am a criminalTen year old degenerate grabbing on my genitalsThe last Mathers LP done went diamondThis time I'm predicting that this one will go emeraldWhen will the madness end, how can it whenThere's no method the pad and penThe only message that I have to sendIs "Dad, I'm back at it again."Bitch (who's your daddy?)