Whether Or Not – D12 – letras

No escapin’ this)[Kon Artis- Intro]Ha, ha, haYo, yo, yo, yo-yoD12, Kon ArtisYo, yo[Kon Artis]Oh we sound like Em clones uh?Where the fuck you think he started at homes, uh?Skip the small talk, talkin’ is a risk you takeKick yo’ face ’till yo’ head go through this window and breakTo the 1-9, Denaun cause the gun-lineAnd collect yank from every weed spot like I’m one timeI’m ain’t the remorseful type, I’ll drink and still drive prone on any thing at any given nightFuck leavin’ my roots, I’m still in cahoots with nincompoots who shoot up like troops in Babe RuthPull up in a red hersh, with Fred Durst dressed like a nurse,With a cold purse, screamin’ the stove hurt[Bizarre]On my Harley Davison, I ride down Main StreetI speed with my dad’s name on my ass cheekGimme your ones and get robbed with a broken gunGot you doin’ more dances than Puffy’s sonAll you groupies that wanna get took, you gotta be 12 years old with a coloring bookAnd anyone else who wanna get fucked, cause..(No one’s ready to deal with us)[Eminem]Whether you rap or you don’t rap (No escapin’ this)Duck ‘fo you get rushed (No escapin’ this)Get stucked fuckin’ with us (No escapin’ this)Cause…(No one’s ready to deal with us)We interrupt your little world of perfect mistTo bring you this shit that murder conserved us withCursin’ diss, with verses so merciless these words can just fuck up your high worse than this…I KILL for less, and dump BODIES in the muthafuckin’ wildernessI’m a wilderbeast, I conceal the peace even after I was bust if I want policeYou think, just because I got caught by these cops onceI’m not gonna carry shot guns to blow your wigs back like hamburgers without buns!!Too many damn murders I can’t even count one!!Two black guns, I don’t know maybe they’re Magnums?!!I don’t know what the fuck they’re called, I just grabbed ‘um!!12-gauge dumped in a drug fueled rage, fuck age, I’m still goin’ through my « fuck-you » stageI’m a, « 27-year-old-eleven-year-old », I’ma never grow up, bitch I ain’t gon’ never get oldI’ll be sittin’ here with a cane and a beard,Still insane and as weird as a deaf-can’-even-hear, brain in my rear, yeahSo ’till I’m wrinkled as Robert Van Winkle, I’m a drop a damn single every goddamn week peopleIt’s D12, June 19th, so do like me, and go buy three, with no I.D.Kids…[Proof]Now why you wanna play a game with me, dangerouslyThe outcome’s hot, once splittin’ your brain in threeProof with crooked raps, always ask them « What the fuck you lookin’ at »?And invite the hook to scrapI gave my life to God, n***a, then I took it backTook it black, this fuckin’ gat, will leave your cookie crackedDetroit’s, derelict, arrogant, terrorist, straight on you areospitSpit at people various people, to leave you bloody ’till your buried withEvery hit was serious, n***as wanna know how murderous The Dirty Harry isWhen I’m on your front porch with guns about to bustCause…(No one’s ready to deal with us)[Swift]Ha,When they runnin’ to Swift they change directionsMy shit so tight when hoes hear it they catch a yeast infectionYou need protection, you gon’ fear itI snatch away yo’ DNA from existance, with no spiritGive up the carrots or see the .9Fuckin’ with mine is like barracine chewin’ up swine, on ChristmasWith a white trailer bitch on his arm, chillin’ in Europe, havin dinner with a platime,I attack killin’, fuckin’ hoes like Mack Dillin’Stackin’ obituaries higher than Michcael Jackson’s cieiclin’I leaves nobody livin’, I got Satan shiverin’Hate what I’m deliverin’, you know the best then send ’em in, crack you with a fifth of ginYou got your mem, but they all wearin’ skirts like them ***** from Scotland, you hoes are not grimmDon’t make me stop in with a mag, and blow yo feet up out yo Top Ten’s[Kuniva]I’m the one they call in the « Tortia »Smackin’ your bitch and forcin’ her in the back seat of an old CorciaKuniva’s the silent type, but under the silence violent life, usually followed by sirens and lightsGet your throat cut by this tyrant’s knife, from high as a kiteFrom get-a-way drivers drivin’ rightFuckin’ with Hans will get you flipped like a baton, the deadliest bombsWrap around n***as like Camabons, you know I ain’t nothin’ to play withThinkin’ you real like The Matrix, fuckin’ with ***** drippin’ off self-hatredI’m on some live shit, rappers be on some « ready-to-die » shit’Till I put a ice pick, right through they eyelids, fuck heaters, I’ll knock you out instead of shootin’I hit hard, break yo’ fuckin’ jaw like ResolutionGive up the cash and coat, or get your little brother’s classroom smokedAnd the substitue gaged and choked*****…D12, June 19th…Get ready for it…Trouble soon, baby…You know it…Tell your mama and your sister too…Cause we fuckin’ ’em…