Remember Me? is a song interpreted by Eminem, released on the album The Marshall Mathers LP in 2000.
Remember Me? lyrics
(I have no remorse)
(I'm 'High Powered')
(I drop bombs like Hiroshima)
For this one it's the X, you retarded?
'Cause I grab the mic and get down, like Syndrome
Hide and roam into the masses, without boundaries
Which qualifies me for the term 'Universal'
Without no rehearsal, I leak words that's controvers'al
Like I'm not the one you wanna contest, see
'Cause I'll hit yo' ass like the train did that bitch
That got "Banned From TV"
Hit you, watch your whole head split up
Loco-is-the-motion, we comin' th'ough
Hollow tips is the lead the .45 threw
(Throw ya gunz in the air)
Niggaz that take no for an answer, get told no
Yeah, I been told no, but it was more like, "No, no, no!"
Life a bitch, met her, f*ck you if you let her
Better come better than better to be a competitor
This vet is ahead of the shit is all redder, you deader and deader
A medic instead-a the cheddars and credda
Settle vendetta one metal beretta from ghetto to ghetto
Evidence? Nope, never leave a shred-of
I got the soul of every rapper in me, love me or hate me
My moms got raped by the industry and made me
I'm the illest nigga ever, I told you
I get more pussy than them dyke bitches Total
Want beef, nigga? You better dead that shit
My name should be "Can't believe that Nngga said dat shit"
Probably sayin', "He ain't a killer", but I'm killin' myself
Smoke death, f*ck bitches raw on the kitchen floor
So think what I'm-a do to you, have done to you
Got niggaz in my hood who'd do that shit for a blunt or two
What you wanna do, cocksuckers? We glock-busters
'Til the cops cuff us, we'll start ruckus and drop blockbusters
'Round the clock hustlers, you cannot touch us
I'm gettin' wires, niggaz wantin' me dead, wantin' my head
You think it could be somethin' I said?
(I just don't give a f*ck)
(Yeah, f*ck you too!)
(I'm low down and I'm shifty)
When I go out, I'm-a go out shootin'
I don't mean when I die, I mean when I go out to da club, stupid
I'm tryin' to clear up my f*ckin' image, so I promised the f*ckin' critics
I wouldn't say, "F*ckin'" for six minutes
Six minutes, Slim Shady, you're on
My baby's mom, bitch made me an angry blonde
So I made me a song, killed her and put Hailie on
I may be wrong, I keep thinkin' these crazy thoughts
In my cranium, but I'm stuck with a crazy mom
Is she really on as much dope as you say she's on?
Came home and somebody musta broke in the back window
And stole two loaded machine guns and both of my trenchcoats
Sick, sick dreams of picnic scenes, two kids, sixteen
With M-16's and ten clips each
And them shits reach through six kids each
And Slim gets blamed in Bill Clint's speech to fix these streets?
F*ck that, you faggots can vanish to volcanic ash
And re-appear in hell with a can of gas and a match
Aftermath, Dre, grab the gat, show 'em where it's at
What the f*ck you starin' at, nigga?
Don't you remember me?