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Artist: D12
Album:  D12 World
Song:   6 in the Morning
Typed by:

[Intro: Eminem]
Good morning!  Haha.
Wake your motherfuckin asses up!
Aiyyo, what if so what
Well come on then, you know what time it is
Stop sleepin on my group BITCH! {*gun cocks, BLAM*}

For whatever it's worth, it's worth me havin my ass whipped
Cause I'ma have the last lips to ever kiss ass with
I just can't get passed these little piss ants
that wanna be Barney bad asses so bad
And they so mad they can't stand it, cause we can and they can't spit
And they can't handle it like a man
And that's when it just happens and I snap then it's a wrap
Then it's a scrap and it isn't rap, is it?
Hip-hop isn't a sport anymore
when you gotta go and resort back into that shit
Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but my passion
is to smash anyone rappin without havin to slap him
Believe me, I'd much rather lift a pencil than a pistol
when I'm pissed now, but it all depends on just how
far it gets took on the mic
Cause I'm tellin you right now you're not gonna like it
Cause if I get pushed over the edge then I'm pullin you with me
You poke a stick at a pitbull you get bit B
Your words stick to you like crazy glue when you diss me
Cause they just bounce off me, like bullets do 50
I'm the beautiful instinct, and you're gonna miss me
when I'm gone, like Keith Murray when he threw his stool
and hit a girl accidentally (ahh!)
I do this with Swifty, Kon and Kuniva, Bizzy and Proof - are you with me?

[Chorus: Eminem]
Well c'mon then, everybody good mornin
Kick your shoes off motherfuckers, come on in
Cause we get it on and, 'til the break of dawnin
Wake your ass up motherfuckers, quit yawnin
Cause we ain't leavin 'til 6 in the mornin
So ever sing along with the words of the song and
If you don't know the words and you can't sing along then
Fake like you know 'em motherfuckers and join in
Everybody good mornin

They consider me the epitomy of a beef starter
In the party with heat, it's hard to keep me without one
Fuck snubs, I walk in clubs with a shotgun
Constantly poppin slugs, they hot son, better not run (AHH!)
The bosses of all bosses; a holocaust to whoever ain't cautious
In a house full of dog shit
I'm a gothic death prophet, you'll stop breathin
You'll die quicker than mach speed without bleedin
It ain't about what you readin
When you meet me better speak like it's Seasons Greetings
Either that or we'll be beefin frequent
You niggaz need an E just to speak shit
And your heater is a petite bitch
Keep the heater where you can reach quick
I'll snipe you with it and won't even keep it a secret
Nigga I did it from the mind of a mental patient
When glocks sway you can save that conversation for Satan
You brave?


[Kon Artis]
Yo, yo - I heard you niggaz
don't like us but so what, this beef is like what the fuck
did he say in his rap - am I conceded?  He just a punk
I mean these niggaz'll squeeze on me pleased when seein guts
I don't need no enemies cause my family a couple trucks
And my {?} and a mic, they empty out on them bike
to fight you in front of everyone important that I don't like
No need for metaphors to get points across when I write
This emotion's enough to say, "Fuck you bitch and I don't like you!"
WHAT!  I might as well give this up, but that'd be selfish as fuck
You'll leave D12 in this, but we can't self-destruct
I've never felt it this much, c'mon fellas get up!
We gotta fight like Bugz last night of his life, C'MON!

I walk with a limp, pistol hangin off of the hip
I'm awkward and quick enough and sick when sparkin a fifth
Your carcass is split, even if beef is partially thick
We can't take you serious, you a comedy skit
You probably wish that you could be out, shootin at G's
But the only thing you shoot is the breeze, I can't believe
you speakin on movin ki's, but every time we hear you kick it
The only thing that you sellin is woof tickets
I look wicked cause niggaz'll test your nut sack
So when they bust you better bust back or get your guts clapped
outta your stomach, and when they want it
I'll bring a hundred niggaz from Runyon so get to gunnin if you comin