Lyrics and Meanings

Eminem – The Ringer Lyrics and meaning


Eminem – The Ringer Lyrics and Meaning



*Plane crash*

Yeah (Illa)

Yo, I’m just gonna write down my first thoughts, and see where this takes me, ’cause I feel like I wanna punch the world in the fuckin’ face right now, yeah!



Let me explain just how to make greatness

Straight out the gate, I’m ’bout to break it down

Ain’t no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake, I’m ’bout

To rape the alphabet, I may raise some brows

If I press the issue just to get the anger out (brrr)

Full magazine could take Staples out

Savage but ain’t thinkin’ ’bout no bank account

But bitch, I’m off the chain like Kala Brown

Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I’m talkin’, lil’ bitch

I’m sorry, wait, what’s your talent? Oh, critiquin’

My talent? Oh, bitch, I don’t know who the fuck y’all are

To give a sub-par bar or even have an opinion or view

You mention me, millions of views, attention in News

I mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for you

Billions of views, your ten cents are two

Skim through the music to give shit Reviews

To get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuse

Don’t get misconstrued, business as us’

Shit-list renewed, so get shit to do

Or get dissed ’cause I just don’t get

What the fuck half the shit is that you’re listenin’ to

Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow

Everyone copies though? Probably no

Get this fuckin’ audio out my Audi yo, adiós

I can see why people like Lil Yachty, but not me though

Not even dissin’, it just ain’t for me

All I am simply is just an MC

Maybe “Stan” just isn’t your cup of tea (get it)

Maybe your cup’s full of syrup and lean

Maybe I need to stir up shit, preferably

Shake the world up if it were up to me

Paul wants me to chill, y’all want me to ill

I should eat a pill, probably I will

Old me killed the new me, watch him bleed to death

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I breathe on the mirror, I don’t see my breath

Possibly I’m dead, I must be possessed

Like an evil spell, I’m E-V-I-L (evil, spelled)

Jam a Crest Whitestrip in the tip of my dick

With an ice pick, stick it in a vise grip

Hang it on a spike fence, bang it with a pipe wrench

While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch

Like vice-president Mike Pence

Back up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike strip

These are things that I’d rather do than hear you on a mic

Since nine tenths of your rhyme is about ice and

Jesus Christ, man, how many times is

Someone gonna fuck on my bitch? (Fuck my side chick!)

You won’t ever see Em icy

But as cold as I get on the M-I-C

I polarize shit, so the temps might freeze

And your skull might split like I bashed you upside it

Bitch, I got the club on smash like a nightstick (yeah)

Turn down for what?

I ain’t loud enough, nah, turn the Valium up!

‘Cause I don’t know how I’m gonna get your mouths to shut

Now when it doesn’t matter what caliber

I spit at, I’ll bet a hundred thousand bucks

You’ll turn around and just be like, “Man, how the fuck

Sourpuss gonna get mad just ’cause his album sucks?

And now he wants to take it out on us.” (ooouuu)

But last week, an ex-fan mailed me a copy

Of The Mathers LP to tell me to study

It’ll help me get back to myself and she’ll love me (ooouuu)

I mailed the bitch back and said if I did that

I’d just be like everyone else in the fucking industry

Especially an effing Recovery clone of me (NFing)

So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Igg’ Azae’

Lil Pump, Lil Xan imitate lil wayne

I should aim at everybody in the game, pick a name

I’m fed up with bein’ humble

And rumor is I’m hungry, I’m sure you heard bumblings

I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach

I heard your mumblin’ but it’s jumbled in mumbo-jumbo

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The era that I’m from will pummel you, that’s what it’s comin’ to

What the fuck you’re gonna do when you run into it?

I’m gonna crumble you and I’ll take a number two

And dump on you, if you ain’t Joyner

If you ain’t Kendrick or Cole or Sean then you’re a goner

I’m ’bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it

I guess when you walk into BK you expect a Whopper

You can order a Quarter Pounder when you go to McDonald’s

But if you’re lookin’ to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival

But y’all are actin’ like I tried to serve you up a slider

Maybe the vocals shoulda been auto-tuned

And you woulda bought it

But sayin’ I no longer got it

‘Cause you missed the line and never caught it

‘Cause it went over your head, because you’re too stupid to get it

‘Cause you’re mentally retarded, but pretend to be the smartest

With your expertise and knowledge, but you’ll never be an artist

And I’m harder on myself than you could ever be regardless

What I’ll never be is flawless, all I’ll ever be is honest

Even when I’m gone they’re gonna say I brought it

Even when I hit my forties like a fuckin’ alcoholic

With a bottle full of malt liquor

But I couldn’t bottle this shit any longer

The fact that I know that I’ma hit my bottom

If I don’t pull myself from the jaws of defeat and rise to my feet

I don’t see why y’all even started with me

I get in beefs, my enemies die

I don’t cease fire ’til at least all are deceased

I’m eastside, never be caught slippin’

Now you see why I don’t sleep, not even a wink, I don’t blink

I don’t doze off, I don’t even nod to the beats

I don’t even close my fuckin’ eyes when I sneeze

“Aw, man! That BET cypher was weak, it was garbage

The Thing ain’t even orange—oh my God, that’s a reach!”

Shout to all my colorblind people

Each and everyone of y’all, if you call a fire engine green

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Aquamarine, or you think water is pink

“Dawg, that’s a date.” “Looks like an olive to me.”

“Look, there’s an apple!” “No, it’s not, it’s a peach!”

So finger-bang, Pootie Tang

Burger Kang, Gucci Gang, dookie, dang

Charlamagne gonna hate anyway, doesn’t matter what I say

Give me Donkey of the Day

What a way for 2018 to get underway

But I’m gonna say everything that I wanna say

Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch! (yeah)

Invite ’em in like a One A Day

I’m not done (preach)

‘Cause I feel like the beast of burden

That line in the sand, was it even worth it?

‘Cause the way I see people turning’s

Makin’ it seem worthless, it’s startin’ to defeat the purpose

I’m watchin’ my fan base shrink to thirds

And I was just tryin’ to do the right thing, but word

Has the court of public opinion reached a verdict

Or still yet to be determined?

‘Cause I’m determined to be me, critiqued or worshipped

But if I could go back, I’d at least reword it

And say I empathize with the people this evil serpent

Sold the dream to that he’s deserted

But I think it’s workin’

These verses are makin’ him a wee bit nervous

And he’s too scurred to answer me with words

‘Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered

But I know at least he’s heard it

‘Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service

To meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin’ him

Or ask if I’m linked to terrorists

I said, “Only when it comes to ink and lyricists.”

But my beef is more media journalists

(Hold up, hold up, hold up…)

I said my beef is more meaty, a journalist

Can get a mouthful of flesh

And yes, I mean eating a penis

‘Cause they been pannin’ my album to death

So I been givin’ the media fingers

Don’t wanna turn this to a counseling sesh

But they been puttin’ me through the ringer

So I ain’t ironin’ shit out with the press

But I just took this beat to the cleaners

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