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Artist: Eminem, Slaughterhouse, Yelawolf
Album:  2011 BET Hip Hop Awards
Song:   Shady 2.0 Cypher
Typed by: 

[Intro: Eminem]
Welcome to Detroit
This is the BET, Shady 2.0, Cypher, 2011
Myself, Slaughterhouse, and Yelawolf
White dawg (thank you cracker) get 'em!

Put these {motherfuckers} in a box and I'll, send 'em away, put 'em in a gray
'llac and pop the trunk, hey throw 'em in the back jack, I'll dig 'em a grave
Put a brick inside that Xerox when I print 'em a page
Movin ki's I can't relate, cause I live in a cage
I throw up the A, I'll take 'em to school, I'll give 'em a grade
An +Eazy E+ for effort, that's WWA
White With an Attitude, alphabet soup is on my plate
All I got is Z's, they sleepin on me, I can't get 'em awake
I spoon-feed 'em the sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
who believe they makin it rain cause all they see is the clouds
And I watch from the couch of the V.I.P. like a potato
with a bunch of meatheads like {fuck} it, I'll just feed 'em a cow
Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
But before you pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
but what's like to pick a fight with me is like puttin Nikes on a cheetah
Better speed up, or at least in my case Adidas
I'm out this bitch drinkin Sprite by the 2-liter
Holler, Shady Records (uhh)

[Budden] Nah I need the scratch to get me amped
[Eminem] Aiyyo wait wait wait wait wait wait, okay go, yeah yeah
[Budden] I'm 'bout to get 'em, I'm 'bout to get 'em right
[Eminem] Wait wait, okay

[Joe Budden]
Yo, say I'm from the new school, I'ma say check your tone and watch your mouth
If they +Teachin How to Dougie+, I'm condonin droppin out
Forced a while - y'all birthed me and gave me up
I just perfected bein hip-hop's foster child
Now check it, don't blame y'all for bein trash fans are coppin it
The radios, the crime scene, the masses are the hostages
In my youth I'd throw shots, the fag was dodgin it
I'm grown, I ain't +Watchin the Throne+, I'm sabotagin it
You see that four-headed monster in the storm loom
Snipe 'em from a distance, the scope got a long zoom
You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
Gotta figure here you won't get bigger if you on 'shrooms
Was left to me I'd revive what the game be 'bout
I'da took the +Wine+ outta Amy 'house
Enough raps from you scrub cats 'bout cockin a snub back
Wayne couldn't teach me +How to Love+ that
But I got this shit from uptown, she my summer bunny
Both parents broke but she come/cum from money
Think my bread is her paper to burn
So I lock her out, and now she doubt David is +Stern+
She's so bad, I make her hit the telly from a taxi
then dead her in that Holiday Inn, learned that from Max B
That's why the haters every kind'll wanna send me llamas
I made it right before they eyes like I was Benihana's
Is it me or is what I'm hearin is pitiful?
Airwaves the same, now the stereo's typical
My skin thick so the critics ignored
So unafraid to die you'd think I did it before
The boy's Rodman with the trash talk, Magic or Ward
With the black ball way I bounce off the ass forward would cap whores
Blast y'all, hoodie and mask will be the black foot with no passport
Body be found in the mansion in one of my trap doors
If punks had awards your status whore is categor'
Probably be that of awards 'tween Michael Rapaport or Kenny Lattimore
I know hip-hop's alive and well
If it died you other crews wouldn't survive the smell

[Royce] Ladies and gentlemen
[Crook] You scared now?
[Shady] Make that face at 'em dawg!
[Royce] Crooked I, get 'em!

[Crooked I]
I spot a victim, the plot'll thicken when the clock is tickin
I caught him slippin, I gotta give him a shot, I hit him
with proper spittin, hottest writtens in composition
So competition's a contradiction, somebody mention
they got it crooked, highly fiction, we probably different
Got Gotti henchmen, opposition I body quick as Bugatti engines
I'm on a mission to get, richer
The sickest lyric kickin, diggin a ditch for different spitters
Weak lyricists get disfigured, sip liquor
Spit like a sick mixture of Notorious, Pun and L; get the +Big+ picture?
The poster, I'll roast ya
My mind's so deadly it's just like the beanie is close to a holster
It's over, control my whole coastal region 
like I'm supposed ta, flow is goin postal even
Open season, heart close to freezin
+Ruthless+ as Eazy nigga, approach I'm squeezin
Believe me, dopest West Coaster breathin
So most ya hope I'm vegan, nope I'm beefin
Rappers need to keep it trill, gimme a beat to kill
Too many people still eatin sleepin pills, people sleepin on my ether skills
And y'all ain't even real - you 'bout to die in the cypher
Before you die you should do the Jada and leave a +Will+
For real

[Joell Ortiz]
(Yaowa) I ain't a rap dude, I'm a dude who rap
Before this I was movin crack
Them killers y'all become when y'all rhyme I salute and dap
And if I blink then remove your snaps
You ain't cool you wack, with y'all foolish act
Skinny jeans don't mean yo' ass shoot, it means your booty claps
Haha, don't play like Tyler Perry
This the Slaughter-House of Pain, flow brown, tight and heavy
When it come to sixteens I'm a fiend
Seen in a studio, near a needle with a mean lean
Probably writin bars to Nas' "Thief's Theme"
Gettin my yaowa on, they all these Olajuwon's, we the Dream Team
This is an all day slaughter
They fiendin for us to break like Beyoncé's water
The four quarters doin all the eatin
And y'all gotta know why I made the cut, I'm Puerto Rican
Ortiz keep the fire ready
And tryin to put me out's like tryin to steal a transvestite from Eddie

[Royce Da 5'9"]
Yeah, I'm do or die dope
And you can make the sticker sittin on the door of that Phantom your suicide note
Hi Rihanna.. is Nicki livin wit'chu?
Let me know so I can buy binoculars and telescopes
Hi Rihanna.. I don't need to know you better
You tell me you love my music again, we go together
Bye Rihanna.. now back to y'all fools
We rock out like the outside of a guitar school
Thousand dollar frames I prefer to see the world through
Don't ask me nothin 'bout Budden, I {beat} my girl too
You ask me why do I keep her I say it's cheaper to
That's why I ride around in the Rolls like Wiz Khalifa do
Rappers I'm your daddy, I'll tell you straight as this
You don't kill but your father +Will+ like Jayden Smith
I'll tell you like I tell my Spanish chick
You fly but I ain't goin down on no landing strip
So get your wax on like Daniel-san
Now I'ma have to run like De La Hoya in drag when cameras come
Point out the greatest rapper alive I'll head shot him
Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some Red Bottom
Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
while I'm cyber sexin with Jessica Alba, via Skype
I'm on my D-boy, Deebo thing
Spiritual steelo, swing like Cee-Lo Green
Get out the camera with your B-roll bling, you know your flow is wack
We cornered market like a Walmart in a cul-de-sac
Yeah, this what two millions singles sold
and the album that's gold look like, without havin to sell your soul

[Shady] Wait, can I rap?
[Joe B] You the boss, you better get 'em
[Shady] Me rap?
[Joe B] Represent

Aiyyo, lyrical miracle spiritual individual criminal
Subliminal, in your swimmin pool (OOOOOOOOOH!)
(Yo yo yo, yo, c'mon man kick that shit I wrote you)

You 'bout to see peace destroyed, it'll never be restored
When I unleashed these beastly hordes on your CD stores
Wanna stop it? You gon' need a priest, at least three swords
A +License to Ill+ from the Beastie Boys, three Ouija boards
and a squeegee and please be warned, don't ask what the squeegee's for
Or the holy water, acid rap that'll eat these floors
Eat a hole in the rhyme book, you see these horns?
And as for me you ask when I'm gone, "Will he be mourned?"
... Is puke lukewarm?
Should Casey Anthony do porn? 
Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a frickin shoebox with a shoe horn
smothered in chloroform so she can go get her groove on?
Can she duct tape and velcro a fetus?
Joell yo, tell Joe I need his
empty box from his old shelltoe Adidas
So I can put these babies in the fetal position
They gettin elbows to the penis, yeah big deal
I took some little kid's big wheel and spit in his frickin big kid's meal
Quit tryna bite me and pinch you wench, sit still
Did you just put your 6-inch heel through my Benz windshield?!
... Is it dust we 'bout to kick up?
Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup
between the stick shift in his frickin pick-up
and drink like a hick, redneck, hillbilly will 'til he gets hiccups?
Flippin the script up
like Mike Vick gettin bit in his junk by a Pit, yup, I'm a sick pup
I'd be a horrible magician, cause I'll {fuck} a trick up
Fix your lips up to say somethin fly, or zip up
A-B? Let's C/see
You said you're gonna do X-Y-Z
'til you {fuck} around and get dropped like an E, when you add an I-N-G
Don't put a K in front of that though, when I emcee/M-C
Cause I'm not the king of this microphone booth, it's more like a phone booth
Superman in this bitch, kryptonite won't do
That gives me more power
I bump the Fat Boys and, eat rat poison, take meteor showers
Fresh out of the mental hospital
And me not flossin a middle finger while I hop in a moshpit'll
be like Nas doin gospel or 
R&B, you crazy? Me pushin up daisies, that thought is impossible
as if flashin across the news Posdnous was caught with a prostitute
with a huge johnson, boobs and monstrous tube 
of lube, and a bra, some boots and panties and an aqua blue Mazda
swallowin a popsicle, playin tonsil pool
So kill the rumors, it ain't happenin
I'ma rap 'til I'm fossil fuel