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/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
Michelangelo with a paint gun in a tantrum ‘bout to explode all over the canvas/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”/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’/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/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
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…
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?) 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
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’
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/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/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
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…
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?)
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
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/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
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
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/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
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
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?)