The Eminem Show
Track 7 - Drips
[That's why I ain't got no time
for these games and stupid tricks
or these bitches on my dick
That's how dudes be gettin sick
That's how dicks be gettin drips]
This interview was killing him. The man interviewing him did not like him; it wasn’t completely obvious to any of the viewers, but Marshall could feel his dislike as something tangible in the air, hear the sharp edge to his questions as he fired one after one. He hadn’t expected that once he’d granted the world an exclusive interview that he’d become the target of an interrogation session.
He wasn’t a damned terrorist; he was a musician, a business man.
He hated interviews, in general, but his public relations department pressed him to do this one, give the world a taste of the man behind the persona, Eminem.
Oh, but how the world was trying to kill him with their words, how they tried to crush his spirit and destroy his fame by defaming him—all they succeeded in was giving him some infamy.
[Fallin victims to this shit
from these bitches on our dicks
Fuckin chickens with no ribs
That's why I ain't got no time...]
“So, Marshall, why do keep your daughter from us?” the interviewer asked.
What the hell are they asking about Hailie for? What the fuck do they think?
[Yo; I woke up fucked up off the liquor I drunk
I had a bag of the skunk won in last nights Tunk
Pussy residue was on my penis, Denise from the cleaners
fucked me good, you shoulda seen this]
Either the interviewers were assholes or they were asskissers. He couldn’t decide which he preferred; people who stuck to their convictions and attempted to cut him down to size or people who praised him for more than he was worth.
But both made him feel conscious of his answers; what to say, what to not say.
[Big booty bitch, switch unbearable
French roll stylin, body like a stallion
Sizin up the figure while my shit gettin bigger
Debatin on a fuck or do I want to be her nigga
Caressin this bitch, plus I'm checkin out them tits
Sippin on that fine shit I ain't used to buyin
I gotta hit it from behind, it's mandatory
like takin hoe's money, but that's another story
For surely, the pussy on toast
After we toast her clothes fell like Bishop in Juice
The womb beater, clean pussy eater]
“So, is your ‘Superman’ song true? You have sex with them, and leave them?”
Where do they get this shit from? Why do they take everything so literally?
“No, I try and set an example for my daughter by being responsible. My affairs are my business, not yours or anyone else’s. However, I will grace you with an answer: I do not date a lot, nor do I think sex should be something casual.”
[Insertin my jock in that spot hotter than the hottest block
"Don't stop!!" Response I got when I was knockin it
Clock steady tickin, kinky finger lickin
and can on, semen's at my tip when she moans
I gotta slow down before I cum soon]
“You try and set an example?” he repeated.
“Yes, that’s what I do. I love my daughter, and I want her to have a good role model.”
“And you think you could fulfill that position?”
Anger flared within him, but he replied with a calm demeanor that shocked his friends as they watched the footage play before them.
“Yes, I do.”
[And work that nigga, like a slave owner
When I dropped off my outfit, she knew I wanted to bone her
She foamin at the lips, the one between the hips
Pubic hairs lookin like some sour cream dip
without the nacho, my dick hit the spot though
Pussy tighter than conditions of us black folks
We in the final stretch, the last part of sex
I bust a FAT-ASS nut, then I woke up next
like what the fuck is goin on here? This bitch evaporated
Pussy and all just picked up and vacated
Now I'm frustrated cause my dick was unprotected
And Dr. Wesley, tellin me I really got that shit]
It was insanity. The questions kept coming, the interviewer’s harsh tone increased and became more apparent despite Marshall’s willingness to answer incredibly private questions, the friendly tone he used. Obviously, what he said wasn’t going to make a difference—wasn’t going to change someone’s mind about him.
“You know what, I think it’s time for the interview to end,” Marshall said loudly, angrily.
[Now I don't wanna hit no woman but this chick's got it comin
Someone better get this bitch 'fore she gets kicked in the stomach
and she's pregnant, but she's eggin me on
Beggin me to throw her off the steps of this porch]
“Excuse me?” the man asked flabbergasted. “You promised America a hour of your time, surely you can spare that out of your busy life.”
[My only weapon is force
And I don't wanna resort to any violence of any sort
But what's she shovin me for? Doesn't she love me no more?
Wasn't she huggin me four minutes ago at the door?
Man, I'm this close to goin toe-to-toe with this whore]
“I’m tired of this shit! I give you answers, and you give me anger. You’re angry than I am. So fuck your show, and FUCK America!” he yelled and flipped his middle finger the cameras and walked off.
He breathed deeply, counted to ten, and marched out of the television studio.
He had had enough.
[What would you do if she was tellin you she wants a divorce?
She's havin another baby of the month, and it's yours
And you find out it isn't cause this bitch has been visitin someone else
and suckin his dick and kissin you on the lips when you get back
to Michigan, now the plot is thickenin worse
Cause you feel like you've been stickin your fuckin dick in a hearse
So you paranoid at every little cold that you get
Ever since they told you this shit, you've been holdin your dick
So you go to the clinic, sweatin every minute you in it]
“Damn it, Mr. Mathers,” his public relations director complained. “The purpose of that interview was to show that you weren’t completely like your persona.”
“Yeah? Did you ever think that it’s just a part of my ‘persona’?”
“Mr. Mathers… You have no idea what this is going to do! You just cussed out millions of people and walked out of a live show!”
“And you know what? It felt DAMN good. I’ve said more than that to millions, and I’ll say even more next time.”
[Then the doctor comes out lookin like Dennis the Menace
and it's obvious to everyone in the lobby it's AIDS
He ain't even gotta call you in his office to say it
So you jet back home, because you gon' GET that hoe
When you SEE her, you gon' bend her fuckin NECK BACK YO
Cause you love her, you never would expect that blow
Obie told you the scoop, how could she stoop that low?
Jesus, I don't believe this, bitch works at the cleaners
Bringin me home diseases, swingin from Obie's penis
She's so deceivin, shit this hoe's a genius
She G'd us..]
“That interview was bullshit, and you know it,” Marshall yelled into the phone.
“It was in your best interest—”
“To lie,” he spit out.
“No! Mr. Mathers, the show was one of the greatest opportunities for you to appear on… It has a huge following. The interviewer was fairly polite to you, as well…”
“Polite?” Marshall asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me? He all but attacked me. He hated me before I even got there. He hated me even when I was the perfect victim. There was no reason—no reason—for him to ask the questions he did. We specified before the interview that there would be no questions about Hailie. The moment he violated that one rule, all bets were off.”
[[Eminem] I'm busy
[Trice] Yeah, fuck these bitches
[Eminem] Fuck 'em all
[Trice] Get money.. Shady Records.. Obie Trice
[Trice] Eminem motherfucker
[Trice] New millenium shit
[Trice] Yeah.. turn this shit off
[Trice] Turn this shit the fuck..]
The other man sighed. “I’ll start a draft of your formal apology.”
“No fucking way am I apologizing.”
“You have to!” the man cried.
“You know what? You’re fired.”
Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.