Testo di 'Whether or not' di D12

No escapin' this)

[Kon Artis- Intro]
Ha, ha, ha
Yo, yo, yo, yo-yo
D12, Kon Artis
Yo, yo

[Kon Artis]
Oh we sound like Em clones uh?
Where the fuck you think he started at homes, uh?
Skip the small talk, talkin' is a risk you take
Kick yo' face 'till yo' head go through this window and break
To the 1-9, Denaun cause the gun-line
And collect yank from every weed spot like I'm one time
I'm ain't the remorseful type, I'll drink and still drive prone on any thing at any given night
Fuck leavin' my roots, I'm still in cahoots with nincompoots who shoot up like troops in Babe Ruth
Pull up in a red hersh, with Fred Durst dressed like a nurse,
With a cold purse, screamin' the stove hurt

[Bizarre]
On my Harley Davison, I ride down Main Street
I speed with my dad's name on my ass cheek
Gimme your ones and get robbed with a broken gun
Got you doin' more dances than Puffy's son
All you groupies that wanna get took, you gotta be 12 years old with a coloring book
And anyone else who wanna get fucked, cause..
(No one's ready to deal with us)

[Eminem]
Whether you rap or you don't rap (No escapin' this)
Duck 'fo you get rushed (No escapin' this)
Get stucked fuckin' with us (No escapin' this)
Cause...
(No one's ready to deal with us)

We interrupt your little world of perfect mist
To bring you this shit that murder conserved us with
Cursin' diss, with verses so merciless these words can just fuck up your high worse than this...
I KILL for less, and dump BODIES in the muthafuckin' wilderness
I'm a wilderbeast, I conceal the peace even after I was bust if I want police
You think, just because I got caught by these cops once
I'm not gonna carry shot guns to blow your wigs back like hamburgers without buns!!
Too many damn murders I can't even count one!!
Two black guns, I don't know maybe they're Magnums?!!
I don't know what the fuck they're called, I just grabbed 'um!!
12-gauge dumped in a drug fueled rage, fuck age, I'm still goin' through my "fuck-you" stage
I'm a, "27-year-old-eleven-year-old", I'ma never grow up, bitch I ain't gon' never get old
I'll be sittin' here with a cane and a beard,
Still insane and as weird as a deaf-can'-even-hear, brain in my rear, yeah
So 'till I'm wrinkled as Robert Van Winkle, I'm a drop a damn single every goddamn week people
It's D12, June 19th, so do like me, and go buy three, with no I.D.
Kids...

[Proof]
Now why you wanna play a game with me, dangerously
The outcome's hot, once splittin' your brain in three
Proof with crooked raps, always ask them "What the fuck you lookin' at"?
And invite the hook to scrap
I gave my life to God, n***a, then I took it back
Took it black, this fuckin' gat, will leave your cookie cracked
Detroit's, derelict, arrogant, terrorist, straight on you areospit
Spit at people various people, to leave you bloody 'till your buried with
Every hit was serious, n***as wanna know how murderous The Dirty Harry is
When I'm on your front porch with guns about to bust
Cause...
(No one's ready to deal with us)

[Swift]
Ha,
When they runnin' to Swift they change directions
My shit so tight when hoes hear it they catch a yeast infection
You need protection, you gon' fear it
I snatch away yo' DNA from existance, with no spirit
Give up the carrots or see the .9
Fuckin' with mine is like barracine chewin' up swine, on Christmas
With a white trailer bitch on his arm, chillin' in Europe, havin dinner with a platime,
I attack killin', fuckin' hoes like Mack Dillin'
Stackin' obituaries higher than Michcael Jackson's cieiclin'
I leaves nobody livin', I got Satan shiverin'
Hate what I'm deliverin', you know the best then send 'em in, crack you with a fifth of gin
You got your mem, but they all wearin' skirts like them ***** from Scotland, you hoes are not grimm
Don't make me stop in with a mag, and blow yo feet up out yo Top Ten's

[Kuniva]
I'm the one they call in the "Tortia"
Smackin' your bitch and forcin' her in the back seat of an old Corcia
Kuniva's the silent type, but under the silence violent life, usually followed by sirens and lights
Get your throat cut by this tyrant's knife, from high as a kite
From get-a-way drivers drivin' right
Fuckin' with Hans will get you flipped like a baton, the deadliest bombs
Wrap around n***as like Camabons, you know I ain't nothin' to play with
Thinkin' you real like The Matrix, fuckin' with ***** drippin' off self-hatred
I'm on some live shit, rappers be on some "ready-to-die" shit
'Till I put a ice pick, right through they eyelids, fuck heaters, I'll knock you out instead of shootin'
I hit hard, break yo' fuckin' jaw like Resolution
Give up the cash and coat, or get your little brother's classroom smoked
And the substitue gaged and choked
*****...

D12, June 19th...
Get ready for it...
Trouble soon, baby...
You know it...
Tell your mama and your sister too...
Cause we fuckin' 'em...