Zdej ne me narobe vzet, nisem noben fan Eminema, zato niti ne vem kakšen je naslov tega komada, ki ga zadnje cajte tolk vrtijo po radiu, me pa zanima. Repa o tem, kako se vsi otroci spreobračajo v njega ko ponavljajo njegove vrstice na vogalih ulic in da ne razume zakaj ne more vedno povedat, kar misli... pač mu avtoriteta in novinarstvo na žulje stopa. Zdej možno je, da je to soundtrack iz filma 8 Mile, česar ne bi vedel, ker soundtracka nisem poslušal, razen v filmu samem. Zato me zanima, če kdo ima kakšno idejo o naslovu tega komada, ker se po radiu vrti najmanj 2x dnevno, jest pa še zmer nimam pojma.

Jap, to je to, hvala. Res besedilo s polno iskreno izraženemi čustvi. Ampak ljudem danes to ni več mar.

Ga bom še tukaj pripopal.

Sing For The Moment

[Verse #1]
These ideas are nightmares for white parents
Whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings
Like whatever they say has no bearing
Its so scary in a house that allows no swearing
To see him walking around with his headphones blaring
Alone in his own zone, cold and he dont care
He's a problem child, what bothers him all comes out
When he talks about his crappity smackin' dad walkin out
Cos he hates him so bad that he blocks him out
But if he ever saw him again, he'd prolly knock him out
His thoughts are whacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back
Talkin black, brainwashed from rock and rap
He sags his pants, 2 rags and a stocking cap
His step-father hit him so he socked him back
And broke his nose, this house is a broken home
There's no control, he just lets his emotions go
Come on...

[Chorus:]
Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
Sing with me,just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away

[Verse #2]
Entertainment is danger, intertwine it with gansters
In the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum
Only you're unholy, only have one homey
Only this gun, lonely, cuz don't anyone know me
But everybody just feels like they can relate
I guess words are a mothercrappity smacker, they can be great
Or they can be great, or even worse, they can teach hate
Its like kids hang on every single statement we make
Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum
Now how the crappity smack did this metamorphasis happen?
From standin' on corners and porches just rappin'
To havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass
But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you
Fans turn on you, attorney's all gonna turn it to
To get their hands on every dime you have
They want you to lose your mind every time you mad
So they can try to make you out to look like a loose canon
You need to spew, dont hesitate to produce air-guns
Thats why these prosecutors wanna convict me
Swiftly just to get me offa these streets quickly
But all their kids been listen'n to me religiously
So i'm signing cds while police fingerprint me
They're for the judges daughter, but his grudge is against me
If i'm such a crappity smackin' menace, this shit doesnt make sense, Pete
It's all political, if my music is literal and i'm a criminal,
How the crappity smack can i raise a little girl?
I couldn't. i wouldn't be fit to
You're full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!

[Chorus]

[Verse #3]
They say music can alter moods and talk to you
But can it load a gun for you and thingy it too?
Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude
Just tell the judge it was my fault, and i'll get sued
See what these kids do, is hear about us toting pistols
And they want to get one, cos they think the shit's cool
Not knowin' we're really just protectin' ourselves
We're entertainers, of course this shit's affecting our sales
You ignoramus. but music is reflection of self
We just explain it, and then we get our cheques in the mail
It's crappity smacked up ain't it, how we can come from practically nothin'
To bein' able to have any crappity smackin' thing that we wanted
It's why we sing for these kids that don't have a thing
Except for a dream and a crappity smacking rap magazine
Who post pinup pictures on their walls all day long
Idolise their favourite rappers and know all they songs
Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in they lives
So they sit and they cry at night, wishing they die
Till they throw on a rap record, and they sit and they vibe
We're nothing to you, but we're the crappity smackin' shit in their eyes
That's why we sieze the moment, and try to freeze it and own it
Squeeze it and hold it, 'cos we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they'll admit it when we're gone
Just let our spirits live on, through out lyrics that you hear in our songs
And we can

[Chorus]

[Chorus Without Beat]

[Instrumental]

Sicer nisem pristaš rapa, ampak tole besedilo zadane največje greške zahodnega sveta, po katerih pravilih in načelih živimo tudi mi.

Quote:

Le refren je kopiran od Aerosmitha, verjetno povsem namenoma. Verzi pa so popolnoma originalni.