More songs by Eminem
Description
Vocalist, Producer, Mixing Engineer: Eminem
Composer Lyricist, Additionalproducer: Luis Resto
Composer Lyricist, Recording Engineer, Mixing Engineer: Steve King
Recording Engineer: Tony Campana
Recording Engineer: Mike Strange
Composer Lyricist: Marshall Mathers
Composer Lyricist: Brian May
Lyrics and translation
Original
There
I go, thinking of you again.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke! Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little poem, but off of the dome it'd probably be a little more, more suitable for this type of song.
Whoa. I got a million reasons off the top of my head that I could think of.
Sixteen bars just ain't enough to put some ink to, so fuck it, I'ma start right here.
I'll just be briefer, 'bout to rattle off some of the reasons.
I knew I shouldn't go and get another tattoo of you on my arm, but what do I go and do?
I go and get another one, now I got two. Ooh.
Now I'm sitting here with your name on my skin.
I can't believe I went and did this stupid shit again. My next girlfriend, now her name's gotta be Kim.
Shit!
If you only knew how much I hated you for every motherfucking thing you've ever put us through, then I wouldn't be standing here crying over you.
Ooh.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke!
Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little letter, but I thought a song would probably be a little better instead of a letter that you'd probably just shred up. Yeah.
I stumbled on your picture yesterday and it made me stop and think of how much of a waste it'd be for me to put some ink to a stupid piece of paper.
I'd rather let you see how much I fucking hate you in a freestyle.
You're a fucking cokehead, so I hope you fucking die.
I hope you get to Hell and Satan sticks a needle in your eye. I hate your fucking guts, you fucking slut, I hope you die.
Die, die, die, die, die, die, die. But please don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter, I'm mad.
It's not that I still love you, it's not 'cause I want you back.
It's just that when I think of you, it makes me wanna yak. Ack!
But what else can I do? I haven't got a clue.
Now I guess I'll just move on, I have no choice but to.
But every time I think of you, now all I wanna do is puke.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke! Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
Fucking bitch!
English translation
There
I go, thinking of you again.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke! Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little poem, but off of the dome it'd probably be a little more, more suitable for this type of song.
Whoa. I got a million reasons off the top of my head that I could think of.
Sixteen bars just ain't enough to put some ink to, so fuck it, I'ma start right here.
I'll just be briefer, 'bout to rattle off some of the reasons.
I knew I shouldn't go and get another tattoo of you on my arm, but what do I go and do?
I go and get another one, now I got two. Ooh.
Now I'm sitting here with your name on my skin.
I can't believe I went and did this stupid shit again. My next girlfriend, now her name's gotta be Kim.
Shit!
If you only knew how much I hated you for every motherfucking thing you've ever put us through, then I wouldn't be standing here crying over you.
Ooh.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke!
Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little letter, but I thought a song would probably be a little better instead of a letter that you'd probably just shred up. Yeah.
I stumbled on your picture yesterday and it made me stop and think of how much of a waste it'd be for me to put some ink to a stupid piece of paper.
I'd rather let you see how much I fucking hate you in a freestyle.
You're a fucking cokehead, so I hope you fucking die.
I hope you get to Hell and Satan sticks a needle in your eye. I hate your fucking guts, you fucking slut, I hope you die.
Die, die, die, die, die, die, die. But please don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter, I'm mad.
It's not that I still love you, it's not 'cause I want you back.
It's just that when I think of you, it makes me wanna yak. Ack!
But what else can I do? I haven't got a clue.
Now I guess I'll just move on, I have no choice but to.
But every time I think of you, now all I wanna do is puke.
You don't know how sick you make me.
You make me fucking sick to my stomach every time I think of you, I puke! Must just not know.
You may not think you do, but you do every time I think of you, I puke.
Fucking bitch!