Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009 song by Eminem from Primary Album Tim-westwood-i-freestyles. The music is composed and produced by Joel. Genre is Freestyle, Rap, Hip-Hop music. The Record company is unknown. Released on May 27, 2009.
The video came from: Youtube
Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009 Meaning
| [[Prelude: Eminem, Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood] Yo blast me off, Tim Where’s that boom? Blast me off, son Pew, pew, pew- pew, pew! The bombs, man! Right now, we’re doin’ this for Beijing, baby, understand how it’s goin’ down That’s how he talk Blastin’ off right now, son! Real big, real legendary up in the game Yeah Drippin’ in swagger juice Yeah We ready to go in this? Yeah, yeah [Part I: “Respect My Conglomerate” by Busta Rhymes] [Intro 1: Eminem, Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood] Are we swaggered up? Swaggered up, yeah Let’s do it, baby, Radio 1, Westwood, sample’s about to go down Check my swag Eminem, Kon, baby, Alchemist, we’re doin’ it like this Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Let’s go, baby A’ight, a’ight, look , [Verse 1: Eminem] I wasn’t born mean, I was pushed to treachery I walk the streets, lookin’ for some puss to fetch me I’m like a veggie, brain is turned to mush, I’m edgy Edgy enough to give Reggie Bush a wedgie If he don’t gimme Kim, things could get messy So pass that ass to me, let me squish the left cheek And press against the right one ’til it’s smushed against me And leave a dead body in the woods, the emcee With the Christopher Reeves beef, we started off on the wrong foot Or should I say fake leg made outta wood? I shouldn’t, yes, I should Ridin’ through the hood, I’m chillin’ with Westwood I’m quite mellow, a white fellow My pee is bright yellow, I like Jell-O I’m like, “Hello,” to a cute little dyke on the mic I’m kinda like Iron Mike ’cause I bite earlobes [Interlude 1: Mr. Porter & Eminem] Yeah Well, I must must say (Yeah?) Well, um, I’m just not gay Well, um, I must must say Um, well, look- (Mr. Porter, son) [Verse 2: Mr. Porter] See I’m the first one to class and the last to leave I mean the first one to leave outta class, believe That I’m a mailbox pimp in my heart ’til I die Even after I’m all gone and my ashes fried Went from an ashy guy, class clown as high To a grown-ass man stackin’ motherfuckin’ paper Runyon Ave.’s the clique, D12’s the game We’ve been spittin’ this shit since we was little bébés Gaga goo goo, nana, nani do do, never Word to my homie Em, I’m just too too clever A 4-5 shot’ll leave a nigga’s face lop-sided The kick from the barrel make you think I’m cock-eyeded, When I bust it off in the crowd, niggas start divin’ Greg Louganis went over the bar, I ain’t lyin’ Hot iron lethals, not defyin’ a soldier Runyon Ave. soldier equals death when it’s over It’s none colder than niggas that understand the struggle Apply the street-muscle, we’ve been had to hustle We’ve been had to hustle, we’ve been had to muscle Apply the street hustle, we’ve been had to hustle , [Verse 3: Eminem & Mr. Porter] Yeah, aight Me and Westwood, blastin’ off, jackin’ off In a pair of acid-washed, bumpin’ Asher Roth Cruisin’ Gratiot ’til I damn near crashed the car I’m tryna smash ’em off in the dash, hit the overpass, went off (Woo!) Over the bridge, into oncoming traffic, caused A massive forty-two car pile-up, not a scratch at all (Woo!) Hopped up holdin’ an axe and saw Jason mask is off when my face is plastered in tabasco sauce Spittin’ flames, kickin’ fire out your ass, you little bastard You can pass it on, I’m battery acid, dawg You don’t wanna get my ass ticked off I’m harder than playin’ basketball while I’m goin’ through crack withdrawal (Woo!) Dick so big it’s like elastic I tie it in a knot and it looks like Mr. Fantastic crossed The path of Plastic Man with a drastic force And went spastic, put my penis on classic sports (Look) [Interlude 3: Mr. Porter] Woo! God, look, look- [Verse 4: Mr. Porter & Eminem] I shoot straight off the hip, trey-eight off the rip But see, I ain’t fo’ that shit I got a fist print fo’ yo’ lip Lookin’ shit is swole up like the stomach on a fat pregnant bitch And it’s evident that I get chips like the president Been a lotta rules, keep the tools for the haters left Niggas ain’t fadin’ ’em, seal a crack, do a trim Got a lot of dough, but you know I ain’t trickin’ on ’em Get some head spinnin’ on ’em, keep the head spinnin’ on ’em See, I ain’t diggin’ on ’em, keep the head hidden from ’em You know how it go, no dough trickin’ on ’em She just wanna blow, see what she can get from ’em But she don’t know my name, I’m ’bout the game, I’m pickin’ on her Wrist so cold that my left hand’s numb as summer I rip a hole ’til she don’t want you gettin’ on her She makes you wonder if the women even want ya Mr. Porter, keep a ho in order Learned it from my daddy, I teach it to my daughter (Yeah) Ya ought to know the quota of my whole workout I float like Noah and I don’t want the boat to rover bounce , [Interlude 4: Eminem & Mr. Porter] Ahaha, yeah Yeah, ayy, let’s change that beat, homie Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Where’s the swag juice, Al? Come on, homie Swag drip Swag is dryin’ up right now Where’s the swag? [Part II: “Microphone” by Slaughterhouse] [Interlude 5: Eminem] Yeah, yeah, yeah Yeah, yeah, yeah Alright, alright Yeah, yeah Yo [Verse 5: Eminem] Once again, it’s the sinister, cynical, minister Shady Kryptonite to Superman, he’s a dentist to Amy Administer of the pain, just finished huffin’ the paint And muffled the fumes like it was nothin’, because it ain’t Anything in his way, his enemies he just slays His venom he spray reaches like beams of energy rays Menacin’ stares, he glares, makin’ the hairs All on the back of yo’ neck stand like Dracula, yep Spectacular rep, he’s a tarantula, gargantuan Yeah, Angela, so I command you to start dancin’ Part Manson, part Hannibal, part mechanical shark Throwin’ animal parts at Scarlett Johansson Enter my gas chamber, you’re gangsta my ass He’s got his fangs to your neck, he’s set to strangle ya ass, hater You’re facin’ a task greater, he’s chasin’ your ass He’s got his face in a mask, your bloodstains on his glass table [Verse 6: Mr. Porter] I’m so obnoxious, open hand slap a nigga, you wouldn’t See, you couldn’t, you went off cryin’ like Cuba Gooding I swan dive in your bitch pussy, I call her puddin’ She love her some nani, I love the bitch cookin’ Scrap back, you niggas weak as Chuck Nevitt I fuck buckin’ naked; Jesus piece swing reckless Entrepo-po head honcho, hope you’re ready ‘fore I pop his ass, nigga, kickin’ through your door You send goons to do your work I send goons to mamas in church, I’ve been a problem since birth Got a middle finger up her skirt I don’t ask a bitch on a date, I ask her can I fuck her first See y’all with this Runyon shit I made somethin’ out of nothin’, I’m a hustler, bitch I keep a 9 tucked, burnin’ up the side of my hip Gotta make a hit for any nigga for fifty-thousand chips [Interlude: Mr. Porter & Eminem] Bitch! Yeah, yeah, yeah Aight [Verse 7: Eminem] I’m checking the exposure of photos of me exposing Myself locked inside of a cozy hotel, posing With or without clothing, next to the decomposing Bodies eroding while I’m dozing off, overdosing Windows opening, shutting, doors opening, closing I think there’s a ghost, too much hydrocodone and codeine I was only s’posed to swallow a half, I took the whole thing I’m not joking, I think I just snorted my nose ring I need a drink, I’m standin’ over the sink, posing Myself, self-loathing, ’cause I’m on a brink, mostly I don’t wanna think, “This will make everything rosy” Beverly sings, scream while I’m severing three toe-sies Totally frozen while I close in, I’m yodeling “Rosey, won’t you come out to play?” Ain’t no sense Wasting time, cutting and pasting headlines in the papers Making shrines of my crimes and capers My words are whirlwinds, I murder my girlfriends Go to Europe and put Neurofens in my syrup and stir them You never heard him like this, so don’t encourage him The neurosurgeon, coke mirrors, and lyrics worse than The kinda person to get Katie Couric to cursin’ Eighty spirits of ladies ’cause Shady murdered the virgins Crazy turn of events, and then he emerged, took Over the world and reeled in all the children Lured ’em into the buildin’ and killed ’em Buried ’em in the mulch and mildew and he will do what he feels, and Still can spin straw into gold like Rumpelstiltskin Cotton to silk, Motrin to Tylenol— three pills, the Real Slim Shady’s entered the buildin’ There’s nothin’ but crumbled leaves and tumbleweeds up in this bitch, Mildrid He’s ill wit’ it, he still shouldn’t be healed There’s no one as sick as he, emcees’ll get fricasseed on the grill then [Interlude 7: Mr. Porter] Woah Alright [Part III: “Chonkyfire” by Outkast] [Interlude 8: Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood & Eminem] Fuck that! Aha Right now Ahahahaha Building’s on fire Fuck you, Em! You want to start with the hook first? Oh, okay I have no idea what I’m doing I have no idea what I’m doing, but [Verse 8: Eminem] Everybody get up, sit up, Christopher They’re miserable without you, Superman is a- -live and he’s flowin’ like the Mystic River Girl, don’t act like you’ve never been kissed before One, two, three, four, five, six, this-a Rhyme is about to hit you right in the kisser How did anybody ever find me? I disa- -ppeared, I was hidin’ in Freeway’s beard, just a Hop, skip and I jump from my skin gushin’ Nails into my face that I’ve been pushin’ Hellraiser, my face is my pin cushion It’s like when I’m on the mic, I can squish a Sucker like a vise grip, my pen put ya In the slaughterhouse, ’cause your style’s been butchered I’ll spin chainsaw, take off, like the blades on My brain’s on hyperdrive, someone put the brakes on [Chorus: Eminem & Mr. Porter, both] Here’s a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget Don’t try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice Now here’s a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget Don’t try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit (Huh-uh) I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice (Yeah) I got you slippin’ on my swag juice (Okay, look) [Verse 9: Mr. Porter] I got it figured out now, nigga, see My-My mind’s right, money right, can’t nobody stoppin’ how I get it In hindsight, I never should’a left where I was livin’ I pro’bly wouldn’t be gettin’ pressed by all these women But then again, I wouldn’t have met the ones that I was diggin’ Sanaa Lathan lookin’, talk a lot Don’t she like Lil Kim and Kim and, uh, Serena Williams? Just like my [?] I’m a regular Charles Dickens Bitch, called me talkin’ ’bout she pregnant She praised me, so I Mannie Fresh’d that ho and left baby I’ll never trust her, no Shit, even if she specialize in mouth, massagin’ my testicles I never trust her a whole lot Even on the first day we met, she’s basically gettin’ her mouth raped Then turned around and ask me for a kiss, “No, bitch, I’m straight” I never really been concerned with how my own dick taste [Pre-Chorus: Mr. Porter & Eminem] I think I’m ’bout to slip on my swag juice I think I’m ’bout to slip on your swag juice Oh no! No, no, don’t slip on your swag juice! Yeah, yeah, I think I’m ’bout to slip on my swag juice [Chorus: Eminem & Mr. Porter, both] So here’s a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget Don’t try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, alright, ayy [Verse 10: Eminem] Slim is in the house, simmer down there, sister Bound to get you dizzy, ’cause he gets as busy as a Bee- baby, you could throw a frisbee in a blizzard He’ll catch it in his teeth, what is he? He’s a wizard Standin’ in the disco with a disco biscuit And I’m pretty sure it isn’t Bisquick, is it? Now, baby, don’t forget to bring your lipstick wit’ ya I want the kiss ‘fore I blow this bitch to smithe- -reens, get the guillotines, this is a situ- -ation that’s critical as Dre spins his, uh Turntables and he cuts the record like a scissor Checka-chicky-checka-chicky-checka-checka-chicka We’ll wreck it in a second, tell me what the heck is sicker? Wait a minute, I just dropped my necklace in the liquor Now, baby, just to make a little breakfast and it’s six o’- -clock in the mornin’, ‘less you want to get some dessert [Chorus: Eminem & Mr. Porter, both] So here’s a smidgen, a midget to get your Bridgets, digit Don’t try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice I got you slippin’ on my swag juice I said, here’s a smidgen, a midget to get your digits, Bridget Don’t try to fidget with it, ribbit ribbit I got you slippin’ on my swag juice, my swag juice I got you slippin’ on my swag, my swag juice [Outro: Eminem, Mr. Porter & Tim Westwood, Eminem & Mr. Porter] Yeah! Hahahahaha Hahahahaha Ayo Just so everybody knows, that was a hook That we made on the way to the radio station And we were tryin’ to get it right So we may have fucked it up a couple times or whatever, but This is what we were tryin’ to, like, work out before we came here Especially for Westwood, man! ‘Specially for you, homie! Damn, Eminem! Thanks for listening, baby] |
Common queries
- Who produced the lyrics for Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009?
This lirics prodiucer by Tim Westwood.
- What is the name of the person who wrote this song? Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009
Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009 song is written by dEnAun & Eminem
- Which artist is featured in the credits for Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009?
The lyrics featured in Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009 belong to dEnAunThe featured artist in the song Eminem Freestyles On Tim Westwood 2009 is dEnAun
