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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
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and had me on the back of a motorcycle then crashed in, the side of a locomotive with rap, I'm
loco it's like handin' a psycho a loaded handgun
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Michelangelo with a paint gun in a tantrum 'bout to explode all over the canvas
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back with the Yoda of rap "in a spasm
your music usually has 'em
but waned for the game your enthusiasm it hasn't
follow you must, Rick Rubin my little Padawan"
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a Jedi in trainin', colossal brain 'n, thoughts are entertainin'
but docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain and
probably find a way to complain about a Picasso paintin'
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puke Skywalker but sound like Chewbacca when I talk
full of such blind rage, I need a seein' eye dog
can't even find the page I was writin' this rhyme on
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oh, it's on the ram-page, couldn't see what I wrote, I write small
it says "ever since I drove a '79 Lincoln with whitewalls, had a fire in my heart
and a dire desire to aspire to diehard"
so as long as I'm on the clock punchin' this timecard
hip-hop ain't dyin' on my watch

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Chorus
Now sometimes, when I'm sleepin', she comes to me in my dreams
is she taken? Is she mine? Don't got time, 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…

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Verse 2
Now (what's your name?) Marshall (who's your daddy?) I don't know him, but I wonder (is he rich like me?) ha! (does he take any, time to show to show you, what you need to live?)
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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
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I'm, the epitome and the prime
example of what happens when the power of the rhyme
falls into the wrong hands and, makes you wanna get up and start dancin'
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even if it is Charles Manson
who just happens to be rappin' blue lights flashin', laughin' all the way to the bank, lampin' in my K-Mart mansion
I'm in the style department
with a pile in my cart, rippin' the aisle apart, but
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with great power comes absolutely no responsibility for content
completely despondent and condescending, the king of nonsense and controversy is on a
beat killing spree your honor, I must
plead guilty, cause I sparked the
revolution
rebel without a cause who caused the evolution of rap, to take it to the next level boost it
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but several rebuked it and whoever produced it
"hip-hop is the devil's music"
does that mean it belongs to me, cause I just happen to be
a white honkey 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 it's the

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Chorus
It's the time, the time, of the season, of the season, when hate runs high
and this time, I won't give it to you easy, when I take, 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…

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Verse 3
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 (does he take any, time to show you, what you need to live?)
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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 knockin' your block off, this is all your fault
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maybe that's why I'm so bananas, I a-ppealed to all those walks
of life, who ever had strife
maybe that's what dad and son talks are like, cause I
related to the struggles
of young America when there fuckin' parents were unaware of there troubles
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now they're ripping out there fuckin' hair again, it's hysterical
I chuckle, as everybody bloodies there bare knuckles
yeah, uh-oh better beware knuckle
heads the sign on my hustle
says "don't knock", the doors broken it won't lock
it might just fly open, get cold-cocked
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you critic's 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, to busy gettin'
stoned in your glass house
to kick rocks, then you wonder why I lash out
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Mr. Mathers, as advertised on the flyers so spread the word cause I'm promotin' my passion 'till I'm passed out
completely brain dead, Rain Man
doin' the Bankhead in a restraint chair
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so bitch
shoot me a look, it better be a blank stare
or get shanked in the pancreas I'm angrier
than all 8 other reindeer
put together with Chief Keef cause I hate every fuckin' thang, yeah
even this rhyme bitch and quit tryin' to look for a fuckin' reason for it that ain't there
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and I still am a 'Criminal!'
ten year-old degenerate grabbin' on my genitals
the last Mathers LP done went diamond, this time I'm predictin' that this one 'll go emerald
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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?)
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