Low, Down, Dirty Lyrics

Warning, this shit's gon be rated R,
You see this bullet hole in my neck? It's
self inflicted
Doctor slapped my momma, "Bitch you got a
sick kid"
Arrested, molested myself and got
Wearing visors, sunglasses and disguises
Cause my split personality is having an
identity crisis
I'm Dr. Hyde and Mr. Jekyll, disrespectful
Hearing voices in my head while these
whispers echo
"Murder Murder Redrum"
Brain size of a bread crumb
Which drug will I end up dead from
Inebriated, till my stress is eleviated
"How in the f**k can Eminem and shady be
Illiterate, illigitimate shit spitter
Bitch getter, hid in the bush like Margot
Jumped out (Ahhhh!) killed the bitch and
did her
Use to let the babysitter suck my dick
when I was little'er
Smoke a blunt while I'm titty f**kin Bette
Sniper, waiting on your roof like the
Y'all thought I was gonna rhyme with
Didn't Ya? Bring your bitch I wanna see
if this dick gon' fit in her

[Chorus: Eminem + (Redman Sample) - 2X]
[E] I'm low down and I'm shiftee!
"And if you hear a man that sounds like me
smack him
and ask him where the f**k did he get his
damn raps from.."

I lace tunes, I'm out this world like
Space Moons
With a bunch crazed loons dismissin brains
like braze wounds
Nothing but idiots and misfits, dipshits
Doing whippits, passed out like Sanford
Where's the weed, I wanna tamper with it
I'ma let your grandpa hit it
Mix it up with cocaine so her can't forget
f**k it, maybe I'm a bum
But I was put on this earth to make your
baby mama cum
So what I'm on is way beyond the bomb or
any alcoholic beverage
Losing all of my leverage
Went up inside the First National Bank
broke, and left rich
Walking bio-hazard causing wreckage
Smoked out like Eckridge
Band just making my neck itch
What the f**k? Gimme the tech bitch
You just lost your tip, there's a pubic
hair in my breakfast
Got shit popping off like bottle cap tips
Get your cap peeled like the dead skin of
your mama's chapped lips
Slap hips, support domestic violence
Beat your bitches ass while your kids
stare in silence
I'm just joking, is Dirty Dozen's really
dust smoking?
If all your shit's missing, than probably
one of us broke in


My head's ringing, like it was Spider
Sense tingling
Lit it like Green Bay did when they
shitted on New England
I'm out the game, put the second string in
This Brandy got my swinging
Bobbing back and forth like a penguin
Delinquent, toking microphones with Broken
Make your mama be like "Ohh! This is good!
Who sing this?"
"Slim Shady, his tape is dope, I love it
It's rugged, but he needs to quit talking
all that drug shit."
It was predicted by a medic
I'd grow to be an addicted diabetic
Living off liquid Triametic
Pathetic, but I don't think this
headache's ever vanishing
Panicing, I think I might have just took
too much Anasin
Frozen Manaquin, posted stiffer than a
I think I'm dying, God is that you?
Somebody help me, before I OD on an LP
Take me to ER ASAP for and IV
Motherf**k JLB, they don't support no hip
They say that's where it ends, the closest
they gon come is Tupac
It's politics, it's all a fix
Setup by these white blue collared hicks
Just to make a dollar off of black music
With a subliminal ball of tricks
But those can kiss ass and swallow dicks


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Songwriter(s): Marshall Mathers, Mark Bass, Jeffrey Bass
Publisher(s): Eight Mile Style LLC

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