Depois de três espantosos telediscos do álbum Recovery — Not Afraid, Love the Way You Lie e No Love —, Eminem pôs a circular mais uma novidade, mas sem imagens. É um dos temas das sessões de Recovery que não chegou ao alinhamento final: chama-se Cocaine, conta com a participação de Jazmine Sullivan [foto-montagem de Mixmatters] e refaz, em palavras amargas e cruéis, um retrato em que se cruzam o desejo de ter uma "imagem" e a angústia de não saber o que fazer com ela [letra transcrita de Musicplayon].
São palavras que se podem ler aqui. E escutar, por exemplo, nas páginas do iLeaks.
São palavras que se podem ler aqui. E escutar, por exemplo, nas páginas do iLeaks.
Got to have it
Yeah, I made it
I’m addicted
Yeah, I’m feigning (I think that’s what she says?)
This is a beat with no words at first
It’s a blank painting
Exercising the mind is brain strength training
Starts off with somethin’, like Shady’s an insane mani-
-ac, Yeah, Slim Shady, that’s a zany name, ain’t it?
Now all you need’s an image to go with the name, baby
Wife beaters and white t-shirts, Hanes mainly
It’s a long shot, but is it possible there’s a lane, maybe?
If not, he’s gonna have to come and change the whole game, ain’t he?
He wants the fame so bad he can taste it
He could see his name up in lights
Women screaming his f-ckin’ name, fainting
Shady did it, he sold out the whole dang stadium
Joe Schmoe made it, he took his Plain Jane lady and his baby Hailie out the trailer
But he ain’t trailing anymore, he’s ahead of the race
While maintaining his innocence
Little does he know, his train is derailing
And he’s about to be raped by this game anally
What would you give for it?
For that C.O.C.A.I.N.E.
‘Cause once you get in, you wanna leave
Got to have it
Yeah, I made it
I’m addicted
Yeah, I’m feigning
You’re operating on all cylinders
Syllables spit like Dillinger’s spilling ya guts
People are feeling ya mic skills, but these haters are ice grillin’ ya
Willing to sacrifice anything for the life that they might steal from ya
Fake friends’ll kill for ya, die for ya
But you can’t decipher “why?” for the life of ya
It wasn’t like this when you were Cypherin’
Argue wit’ your wife again
She found Vicodin in your pants last night again
Your dispute’s public, nothing is private anymore
Oh, and your best friend? Say bye-bye to him
What kinda apple you take a bite’a, Slim?
(This is what you wanted Marshall, ain’t it?)
F-ck, no!
The way that it turned out was nothin’ like the picture that I painted in my head
Sometimes a dream to make it, it’s more fun than it is to actually make it
The game stripped me naked
It robbed me ever having another real relation-
-ship, with another girl
This world is a f-ckin’ trip
‘Cause I slip in another world, proceed, take another hit
Sniff ’til I f-ckin’ hurl, tell ‘em all to f-ckin’ sit
And spin ’til they f-ckin’ twirl, middle finger up again
Relapsing back in this game
Oh well, f-ck it, then