Rhyme Or Reason letra

(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 loco-motive with rap, I'm
Loco, it's like handing 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 training, colossal brain and, thoughts are entertainin'
But docile and impossible to explain and, I'm also vain and
Probably find a way to complain about a Picasso painting
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 writing 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 whitewall, had a fire in my heart
And a dire desire to aspire to Die Hard"
So as long as I'm on the clock punching this time card
Hip-hop ain't dying on my watch

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 promised land
And threaten everyone
'Cause there's no rhyme or no reason for nothing

Now
(What's your name?) Marshall
(Who's your daddy?) I don't know him, but I wonder
(Is he rich like me?) Ha
(Has he taken, any time, 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 want to get up and start dancin'
Even if it is Charles Manson
Who just happens, to be rapping, blue lights flashing
Laughing all the way to the bank, lamping in my K-Mart mansion
I'm in the style department
With a pile in my cart, ripping 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 a 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 honky 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.

It's the time of the season, when hate runs high
And this time, I won't give it to you easy
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

(What's your name?) Shady
(Who's your daddy?) I don't give a f*ck, but I wonder
(Is he rich like me?) Doubt it, ha
(Has he taken, 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 knocking 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, whoever had strife
Maybe that's what dad and son talks are like
'Cause I, related to the struggles of young America
When their f*cking parents were unaware of their troubles
Now they're ripping out their f*cking hair again, it's hysterical
I chuckle, as everybody bloodies their bare knuckles
Yeah uh-oh, better beware knuckle heads
The sign of my hustle says "Don't knock, the door's broken, it won't lock
It might just fly open, get cold-cocked
You critics 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
Too busy getting 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 promoting my passion until I'm passed out
Completely brain dead, Rain Man
Doing a 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 eight other reindeer put together with Chief Keef
'Cause I hate every f*cking thing, yeah
Even this rhyme, bitch
And quit trying look for a f*cking reason for it that ain't there
But I still am a "Criminal"
Ten-year-old degenerate grabbing on my genitals
The last Mathers LP done went diamond
This time I'm predicting this one will 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?)