AUTHOR'S NOTE! I am in no way a future rap star, so please know that I amGame of Chance
fully aware that my rhyming skills (or severe lack thereof) are nowhere near
Eminem's. I did not try to particularly copy his style, nor did I have any
sort of beat going through my head; all I did was try to churn it out in some
fashion. Thanks for understanding! :)
Chapter 12
“You don’t play fair!” she fumed.
“Baby, you just couldn’t take not havin’ me anymore. You forgot all about what you were trying to get out of me!”
“Hmph!”
//
“The studio?” she inquired with a wary eye.
“Uh huh.”
“What are we doin’ here?”
“Just wait, silly.”
//
“So?” she prompted and sat down, folding one leg under her thigh.
“You might think this is, uh, lame.”
“Spit it out, Marshall!”
“I wanna…I wanna record somethin’ for you.”
“For me?” she stuttered in disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Is it about me?”
“Sorta. You just inspired it…I guess. I dunno. I jus’ couldn’t stop writin’ one night—the night when I came to Curtis’ late.”
“Me, inspirational? That’s hot.”
“Just listen?” he pleaded.
“You know I will,” she smiled and put on the headphones.
//
She watched him set a few of the dials, flip switches in all sorts of directions, and then throw is shoulders back and strut into the recording room. Her heart thumped wildly within her chest; it pumped furiously in anticipation—some nervousness—of whatever he’d concocted courtesy of her.
Contessa could hear the beat reverberate through the studio; it was an exotic, primal sound—hot, heavy, and breathless.
[Y'know, there ain't a woman that can make me beg,
no down on my fuckin' knees; like a bastard she got pegg'd
for a little of this, that; some shit for a fat stack of fifties
and a packa' ciggies she be smokin' 'cause she's an addict
bitch, coppin' attitude ain't gonna earn ya' a remix wit' Em
'cause I ain't yo' superman or a free ticket to Hollywood
ya' wanna get wit' me, kid,
gon' hafta' do more than coulda, woulda
'cause Shady don't play that way
don't want no pussy display of that drama you may lay.
had enough wit' 'em dismayin' blondes prayin' for yo' millions.]
It never amazed her at how easily he could astound people with his masterful manipulation of words and rhythm; the way he could incorporate both in seconds, minutes, and mere moments of divine intellectual merit that put him beyond verbal god.
His eyes were closed, so he was totally and absolutely submerged in the beat and the words leaving his talented, rhyme-slinging tongue.
[stimulatin', with no manipulatin', no nitty gritty, jus' the
plain and easy, don't be pullin' tricks and simulatin'
'cause Shady style's the real motherfuckin' deal
a man of steel ready to reveal what'll get ya the Marshall seal.]
She could feel the sheer intensity of the emotion; the heart and soul behind the wordsmith. Her head felt dizzy, and her body trembled as if his works had somehow touched her physically, marked her.
[still wanna try yo' hand at wheel of fuckin' fortune?
spin Marsh 'round and 'round; tryin'a be torturin' wit' a quick pick
first, go home, fix shit, make things perfect - once you're slick
enough to pass on cash and payin' tribs to drama demigods,
you can come swingin' into the highest league, the Shady league, but girl
I ain't gon' touch dirty hands itchin' for a dime and some ice
never been a liar--not gonna start wit'cha--Shady don't act nice
and ya' can't be twistin' truths and bouncin' dice wit' them other guys
'cause ya' know a man gotta keep it tight an' play giddy-go-round up wit' a knife
if that's what it takes just to keep yo' shit safe for the sake of savin' face.]
“Damn,” she swore.
[what Shady wants, Shady gets
'cause the girls that bring it to the table
ain't the ones able to label a motherfucka' as capable
of providin' digital cable and a stable reliable lifestyle
with eyes bulgin' as the cash flushes thru in a fuckin' flash
a Shady girl gets down an' dirty, ready to ride in the Kentucky derby
got 'em hips to walk ya' eyes a mile from uptown to downtown
not a flirty fraction of the cost; just some satisfaction fuckin' action
an' when words transact, she speaks in a matta' a' fact]
Contessa smirked. “Wonder if I’m a Shady girl?”
[stimulatin', with no manipulatin', no nitty gritty, jus' the
plain and easy, don't be pullin' tricks and simulatin'
'cause Shady style's the real motherfuckin' deal
a man of steel ready to reveal what'll get ya the Marshall seal.]
His ability to transform words into rhyming masterpieces was incomprehensible.
[gotta be a hot numba' with a lil' more taste and a lotta'
flava' to have a man beggin' for a little strip tease
a chick wit' somethin' in 'er head so a man can be at ease
without havin' to run clear 'round insanity spittin' profanity
from a case of mistaken identity, misplaced enemy
so, now ya' know what kind'a girl a real man's lookin' for
betta' get to steppin' 'cause what I'm askin' ain't what you can give
I'ma grown man, need a little more than a selfish whore and
silly hos roarin' to change 'emselves like days of the week panties]
She had to laugh at the last line.
[stimulatin', with no manipulatin', no nitty gritty, jus' the
plain and easy, don't be pullin' tricks and simulatin'
'cause Shady style's the real motherfuckin' deal
a man of steel ready to reveal what'll get ya the Marshall seal.]
His eyes shot open, and they locked gazes with each other.
[Holla' 'Tessa...]
Her jaw dropped—she was sure if he’d just adlibbed that part last minute, but hearing his name in that rhythmic style of his nearly brought her to mindless matter.
//
“Marshall,” she said breathlessly as he returned into the control area of the studio.
“Eh?” he said self-consciously.
“I loved it,” she sighed and stood to embrace him.
He grinned dopily.
“So, Marsh, do I get the Shady seal of approval?”
“Maybe,” he said slyly.
She gave him a playful swat.
“Of course,” he replied and ran his hands along the curve of her bottom.
//
“I loved the beat, the music, too,” she commented as she sat on his lap while he fiddled with buttons and switches.
“Something was off about it, though. I don’t keep it that loud so I can concentrate on what I’m sayin’, so let’s playback.”
//
“This ain’t my beat—” he yelled.
“It isn’t?”
“It is…what the fuck is that in the background?”
“Shit, uh, Marsh—that’s…”
“Us,” he finished.
“I guess we must have hit a few too many buttons the other day.”
“Suppose so. I’ll have to get a clean copy later.”
“Why?” she questioned.
“What do you mean, why?”
“It sounds fine as it is.”
“It’s us!”
“So?”
“What if this song makes the album? You want everyone to hear us fucking?” he yelled.
“You can’t really hear it,” she defended. “I mean, we were on the floor! The microphone is a lot higher than we were! It just picked up a few things. It’s not like anyone’s gonna know that it was really you and a girl doing it.”
“It’s just dirty.”
“I like it,” she spat.
“I don’t!”
Chapter 13Author: 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.