conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Shady 2.0 Cypher (2011 BET Hip-Hop Awards) with the following description: The now-famous performance by the Shady Records roster at the 2011 BET Awards. Shady and his crew go in over the instrumental of East Flatbush Project’s “Tried by 12.”
  Aside from its lyrical content, the song also went viral due to Royce’s “Hi Rihanna” line. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro: Eminem, 
  Yelawolf
  , 
  Joe Budden
  ]
  Welcome to Detroit
  This is the BET
  Shady 2.0
  Cypher 2011
  Myself, Slaughterhouse
  And Yelawolf
  White Dawg (
  Thank you, cracker king
  ,) get 'em!
  (
  Let's get 'em
  )
  [Verse 1: Yelawolf]
  Yeah
  Put these mothafuckas in a box, then I
  Send 'em away
  , 
  put 'em in a gray 'llac and pop the trunk
  Ayy, throw 'em in the back, jack; ha, dig 'em a grave
  Put a brick inside that Xerox when I print up a page
  Movin' keys, I can relate, 'cause I live in a cage
  I throw up the A, I take 'em to school, I give 'em a grade
  An easy E for effort; that's WWA
  White with an attitude,
   
  alphabet soup is on my plate
  All I got is Zs, they sleepin' on me, I can't get 'em awake
  I spoon-feed 'em a sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
  Who believe in makin' it rain 'cause all they see is the clouds
  And I watch from the couch of the VIP like a potato
  With a bunch of meatheads like, "Fuck it, I'll just feed 'em a cow"
  Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
  But before you pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
  'Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
  But what it's like to pick a fight with me
  Is like puttin' Nikes on a cheetah
  Better speed up, or at least in my case Adidas
  I'm out this bitch, drinkin' Sprite by the two-liter
  Holler! Shady Records… [Verse 2: Joe Budden]
  Say I'm from the new school
  I'ma say, "Check your tone and watch your mouth!"
  If they teachin' how to Dougie, I'm condonin' droppin' out
  Forced to wild, y'all birthed me, then gave me up
  I just perfected being hip-hop's foster child;
   now check it
  Don't blame y'all for being trash, fans are coppin' it
  The radio's the crime scene, the masses are the hostages
  In my youth I'd throw shots, the fad was dodgin' it
  I'm grown, I ain't watchin' the throne, I'm sabotagin' it
  You see that four-headed monster in the storm looms?
  Snipe 'em from a distance; the scope got a long zoom
  You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
  Gotta figure here you won't get bigger if you on shrooms
  If it was left to me, I'd revive what the game be 'bout
  I'd have took the wine outta Amy house
  Enough raps from you scrub cats 'bout cockin' a snub back
  Wayne couldn't teach me how to love that
  But I got this chick from uptown, she my summer bunny
  Both parents broke, but she come from money
  Think my bread is her paper to burn
  So I lock her out, and now she doubt David is Stern
  She so bad, I make her hit the telly from a taxi
  Then dead her in the Holiday Inn, learned that from Max B
  That's why the haters envy, kinda wanna send me llamas
  I made it right before their eyes, like I was Benihana's
  Is it me, or is what I'm hearing just pitiful?
  Airwaves the same, now the stereo's typical
  My skin's thick, so the critics ignored
  So unafraid to die you'd think I did it before
  The boy's Rodman with the trash talk
  Magic or Walt 
  with the black ball
  Way I bounce off the asphalt with cat paws, glass jaw
  Hood of your mask will be the Blackfoot with no passport
  Body be found in a mansion in one of my trapdoors
  If punks had award, you status whores categore
  Probably be that of awards
  Between Michael Rapaport and Kenny Lattimore
  I know hip-hop's alive and well
  If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell [Interlude: Royce da 5'9" & 
  Eminem
  ]
  Ladies and gentlemen... (You scared now?)
  Make that face at 'em, dog!
  Crooked I
  Get 'em!
  [Verse 3: Crooked I]
  I spot a victim, the plot'll thicken when the clock is tickin'
  I caught him slippin', I gotta give him a shot, I hit him
  With proper spittin', hottest writtens and compositions
  So competition's a contradiction
  Somebody mention they got a Crooked, highly fiction
  We probly different, 
  got Gotti henchmen
  Opposition, I'll body quick as Bugatti engines
  I'm on a mission to get richer, the sickest lyric-kicker
  Diggin' a ditch for different spitters
  Weak lyricists get disfigured
  Sip liquor, 
  spit like a sick mixture
  Of Notorious, Pun and L; get the big picture?
  The poster,
   I'll roast ya
  My mind so deadly it's just like the beanie is close to a holster
  It's over, control my whole coastal region
  Like I'm supposed to, 
  flow is goin' postal even
  Open season, heart close to freezin'
  Ruthless as Eazy, nigga,
   approach, I'm squeezin'
  Believe me, dopest West-Coaster breathin'
  So most y'all hope I'm vegan; nope, I'm beefin'
  Rappers need to keep it trill, give me a beat to kill
  Too many people still eatin' sleeping pills
  People sleepin' on my ether skills
  And y'all ain't even real, you 'bout to die in this cypher
  Before you die you should do the Jada and leave a will, for real [Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]
  I ain't a rap dude, I'm a dude who rap
  Before this I was movin' crack
  Killers y'all become when y'all rhyme, I salute and dap
  And if I blink, they'll remove your snaps
  , you ain't cool, you wack
  With your foolish act
  Skinny jeans don't mean your ass shoot, it means your booty claps, haha
  Don't play like Tyler Perry
  This the Slaughterhouse of pain, flow brown, tight and heavy
  When it come to sixteens, I'm a fiend
  Seen in the studio near a needle with a mean lean
  Probably writin' bars to Nas' "Thief's Theme," 
  gettin' my yaowa on
  Man, all these Olajuwons, we the dream team
  This is an all day slaughter
  They fiendin' for us to break, like Beyonce's water
  The four quarters doin' all the eatin'
  And y'all gotta know why I made the cut, I'm Puerto Rican
  Ortiz keep the fire ready
  And tryna put me out's like tryna 
  steal a transvestite from Eddie
  [Interlude: Joell Ortiz, 
  Royce Da 5'9"
   & 
  Eminem
  ]
  Hahahahahaha
  Hahaha
  A'ight
   (
  Ayo
  )
  Yeah, Joe
  All right, go ahead, rap
  Lyrical miracles
  [Verse 5: Royce Da 5'9"]
  I'm do-or-die dope
  And you can make the sticker sittin' on the door of that Phantom your suicide note
  Hi, Rihanna, is Nicki livin' witchu?
  Let me know so I can buy binoculars and telescopes
  Hi, Rihanna, I don't need to know you better
  You tell me you love my music again, we go together
  Bye, Rihanna—now back to y'all fools
  We rock out, like the outside of a guitar school
  Thousand dollar frames, I prefer to see the world through
  Don't ask me nuttin' 'bout Budden, I beat my girl too
  You aks me why do I keep her, I say it's cheaper to
  That's why I ride around in a Rolls, like Wiz Khalifa do
  Rappers, I'm your daddy, I tell you straight as this
  You don't kill, but your father will, like Jaden Smith
  I tell you like I tell my Spanish chick
  You fly, but I ain't goin' down on no landin' strip
  So get your wax on, like Daniel San
  , 
  or I'ma have to
  Run
  Like De la Hoya in drag when cameras come
  Point out the greatest rapper alive, I'll headshot him
  Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some 
  red bottom
  Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
  While I'm cyber-sexin' with Jessica Alba via Skype
  I’m on my D-boy, 
  Deebo thing
  Spiritual steelo swing, like Cee-Lo Green
  Get out the camera with your B-Roll bling, you know your flow is wack
  We cornered the market, like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac
  Yeah, this what two million singles sold
  And an album that's gold look like without having to sell your soul
  Nickel
  [Interlude: Eminem, 
  Joe Budden
  , 
  Royce Da 5'9"
   & 
  Crooked I
  ]
  Huh? Huh?
  Yeah (Yeah,) oh, wait (
  Shady
  )
  Wait go ahead, go ahead (
  Shady
  ) (
  You gotta get 'em, too
  )
  (
  You the boss, you better get 'em
  ) Wait, can I rap?
  (
  You the boss so you better [?] represent
  ) Me, rap? 
  Ayo
  Lyrical miracle, spiritual individual, criminal
  Subliminal in your swimming pool
   (
  Woah
  ) (Oh)
  (
  Metaphysical
  ) 
  Yo, yo, yo, yo
  Alright, yo (
  Come on, man, kick that shit I wrote you
  )
  Drop it
  (Hahaha) (
  Kick that shit I wrote that one time, that John Blaze shit
  )
  Yeah, yeah, yeah
  Yeah, yeah
  [Verse 6: Eminem]
  You 'bout to see peace destroyed, it'll never be restored
  When I unleash these beastly hordes on your CD stores
  Wanna stop it? You gon' need a priest, at least three swords
  A license to ill from the Beastie Boys
  , three Ouija boards
  And a squeegee, and please be warned, don't ask what the squeegee's for
  Or the holy water, acid raps that'll eat these floors
  Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns?
  And as for me, you ask, when I'm gone, will he be mourned?
  Is puke lukewarm?
  Should Casey Anthony do porn?
  Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a frickin' shoebox with a shoehorn
  Smothered in chloroform,
   
  so she can go get her groove on?
  Can she duct-tape and Velcro a fetus?
  Joell, yo, tell Joe I need his
  Empty box from his old shell-toed Adidas
  So I can put these babies in a fetal position
  They're gettin' elbows to the penis
  Yeah, big deal
  I took some little kid's Big Wheel 
  and spit in his frickin' big kids meal
  Quit tryna bite me and pinch, you wench, sit still!
  Did you just put your six-inch heel through my Benz windshield?!
  Is it dust we 'bout to kick up
  ?
  Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup
  Between his stick shift in his frigging pickup
  And drink like a hick redneck hillbilly will 'til he gets hicc-ups?
  Flippin' the script up, like Mike Vick
  Gettin' bit in his junk by a Pit, yup, I'm a sick pup
  I'd be a horrible magician, 'cause I'd fuck a trick up
  Fix your lips up to say somethin' fly, or zip up!
  Ayy, B, let's see:
  You said you're gonna do X-Y-Z
  'Til you fuck around and get dropped
  Like an E when you add an I-N-G
  Don't put a K in front of that, though, when I MC
  'Cause I'm not the king of this microphone booth
  , 
  it's more like a phone booth
  Superman in this bitch, 
  Kryptonite won't do
  It gives me more power
  , 
  I bump the Fat Boys and
  Eat rat poison, 
  take meteor showers
  Fresh outta the mental hospital
  And me not flossin' a middle finger while I hop in a mosh pit
  Will be like Nas doin' gospel or R&B—
  you crazy?
  Me pushin' up daisies, that thought is impossible
  As if flashin' across the news
  Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute
  With a huge johnson, boobs and a monstrous tube
  Of lube, and a bra, some boots, some panties, and an aqua blue Mazda
  Swallowin' a popsicle, playin' tonsil pool
  So kill the rumors, it ain’t happenin'; I’ma rap 'til I'm fossil fuel