Explicit.
[0:00 - 2:00] Intro is “Rappers are Richer Than You,” a standalone profile of Eminem’s extreme, fictitious conspicuous consumption.
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Ay, S-L-A, U-G-H, T-E-R, H-O-U-S-E
Yes we are, the best in the biz, the West in the bitch, this East side LB
Money over coochie man, 645 when dip through the burbs
I be on my Gucci Mane, smash on the gas, kick a bitch to the curb
House in the hills, thousands and mill’s
Getting wild in the field with your spouse in Brazil
On ounces and pills, how does it feel?
To count dollar bills that I found off skills
Check it out, Jets fly private
Nigga S5 Hybrid, baby test drive my whip
I’m in Bed Stuy with my chick
On my West side fly shit
Pulling out minks when the weather get chilly
Left Eye side kick
Now don’t you niggas go chasing waterfalls
These bitches wall to wall and they love to floss y’all
…
[Verse 3: Joe Budden]
What a success story, when the film plays it gets less gory
My son didn’t know who his pop was for years, now it’s less Maury
God put it there as a test for me
Used to walk around with a vest at 40
Cops tryna mess hall me
Now babes with the 34F’s adore me
I took the rock and a hard place and made the best orgy
Now the fans approach, I get paranoid
Where I’m from, they tell me never let your guard rest
But it’s simple to disregard stress
Hoes run to the bone and they far fetched
