Chapter 7
Don't look at me like that.
I went inside and took a seat. The stage just had a microphone on it with a DJ in the dark by the stairs. I looked around the venue and say a mixture of
humans, and animals. Probably a 60:40 ratio. I saw a few people go up and each one was awfull. They couldn't sing at all. I wanted to leave but I hoped I
would get picked. After the 12th one, I heard a number get called. "Chair 69 please go up" I looked at my seat and I had 69 on it. I went up and the host
gave me a slip of paper that said. "Do a song about someone you hate." This was too easy. I went up to the mic and I saw everyone's faces on there. A
mixture of humans and animals. I started the second the beat started. You don't know how sick you make me/You make me freakin sick
to my stomach/ Every time I think of you, I puke/You must just not know-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa/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 would 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, this ain't enough to put some ink ya/So screw it, I'ma start right here I'll just be brief I'm/Bout to rattle off some of the reasons
I can see most of audience look at me and they liked it so far, and a few of them started nodding their heads in agreement. and a few started bobbin their heads to the beat.
You don't know how sick you make me/You make me freakin sick to my stomach/ Every time I think of you, I puke/You must just not know-whoa-whoa-
whoa-whoa/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 shredder—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 ta, a stupid piece a/Paper, I'd rather let you see how/Much I freakin hate
you in a freestyle/You're a freakin' coke-head slut/ I hope you freakin die/I hope you get to hell and Satan sticks a needle in your eye/I hate your freakin
guts, you freakin slut, I hope you die/Di-ii-ii-ii-ii-ii-ie
But please don't get me wrong/ I'm bitter and mad/It's not that I still hate you,/it's not I don't want you back/It's just that when I think of you, it makes
me wanna
Yack-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-ack/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, I'll I wanna do
Is pu-uu-uu-uu-uu-uu-uke/You don't know how sick you make me/You make me freakin sick to my stomach/ everytime I think of you I puke.
The beat ended and the audience clapped. The host came up to me and said. "Who is that song about" "my step-mom" I replied.
Song: Puke
Artist:Eminem
Album: Encore
Publisher: Shady Aftermath
Year: 2004