Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Eminem
Vocals
Jessie Reyez
Vocals
Luis Resto
Keyboards
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jessie Reyez
Songwriter
Fred Ball
Songwriter
Marshall Mathers
Songwriter
Luis Resto
Songwriter
L. Griffin Jr
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Eminem
Mixing Engineer
Fred Ball
Producer
S1
Producer
Brian Gardner
Mastering Engineer
Joe Strange
Recording Engineer
M. Strange
Recording Engineer
Tony Campana
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
You're such a nice guy, a nice guy
You're faithful, you don't lie
After the club you go back home, right?
Right? Sike!
[Verse 2]
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
I hope that your heart get hit by a semi truck
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
[Verse 3]
I hop in your whip and take a sip, then I gun it
I don't, I don't got much self-control, I hope that you runnin'
I'm bi-polar, with the switch I'm just as quick like you comin'
I don't, I don't got much self-control, I hope that you runnin'
[Verse 4]
I'm not a cheater, but if I'ma be accused, might as well be
You tell me you'll take me back when hell freezes, but females be
Rushin' me outside my telly, temptation overwhelms me
Like my monthly bill from Sprint, they're chargin' me for a selfie
Chargion' me, so I gave my hotel key, uh
I'm just tryna be nice
[Verse 5]
You're such a nice guy, a nice guy
You're faithful, you don't lie
After the club you go back home, right?
Right? Sike!
[Verse 6]
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
I hope that your heart get hit by a semi truck
Suck my dick
You fuckin' suck, man
[Verse 7]
I'm playin' music while you suffer
Like I'm Carmine Coppola
Got you tied up in the basement while I chill on your sofa
La próxima yo sé que mejor me quedo sola
Estás de buenas que yo ya vendí mi pistola
[Verse 8]
I'm an emotional wreck, weak
Everything over-affects me
When you joke, it upsets me
You say I'm no good at sex
And you think I'm gross and unsexy
I need Scope 'cause my breath stinks
You hope I choke on a Pepsi
Yeah, bitch, you were supposed to correct me
Been textin' you since three, I still get no fucking reply
You say you sleep alone, but yet your mattress is king size
Fuck you goin' in those knee-high boots?
Cut it out, bitch
I doubt that you're goin' to house-sit in that outfit
And those skin-tight Levis
Every word that comes out you mouth's a fucking lie
Oh, it's springtime
Time for you to have a fling like a sling-shot
You say don't come over 'cause you got pink-eye
But I think I got just the thing
Why don't I bring my fucking bat and just swing by?
Written by: Fred Ball, J. Reyez, L. Griffin Jr, Luis Resto, Marshall Mathers