Drug Money

Eminem wrote some of his lyrics during the shooting of the film 8-mile. In an interview, he said the experience of making the movie brought him back to those moments in his life.

I want to do something that freezes this moment in time for me. At the very least, this will allow me to objectively assess it later in the future. In a short amount of time, I will count up my first million. I wonder how I will reflect on these words at that point. If I know myself the way I think I know myself, I will flame up some kill, turn up the volume all the way so that Speaker Knockerz is literally knocking the fuck out of my speakers, and I my future self will thank the me of today...

Nigga, thank you. Thank you so much for grindin' your ass off. I know what you went through to get me in this position, to put me in this spot. We really did go to war with these motherfuckerz, didn't we? God damn, nigga. Look at us.

You're the Son of motherufuckin' Nietzsche!

After all, wasn't it Nietzsche who said:

“I am by nature warlike. To attack is among my instincts. To be able to be an enemy, to be an enemy – that presuppose a strong nature. It needs resistances, consequently it seeks resistances... The strength of one who attacks has in the opposition he needs a kind of gauge; every growth reveals itself in the seeking out of a powerful opponent – problem; for a philosopher who is warlike also challenges problems to a duel. The undertaking is to master, not any resistance that happen to present themselves, but those against which one has to bring all one's strength, suppleness and mastery of weapons – to master equal opponents.”

In the 33 Strategies of War, Robert Greene says something pretty wicked cool. He tells us that if we calibrate our strengths and weaknesses perfectly, we can take down Goliath with a slingshot.

What this means is that there is no problem too big for The Master Strategist. Or, “The Master Player,” which was the working title of Greene's latest work Mastery...

Heh-heh-heh...

I got this shit runnin' through my motherfuckin' veins, bitches.

I'm not even looking at a book right now. I'm freestyling this shit, with my eyes closed, kinda like playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

Anyway. Back to thankin' myself.

Nigga. Man, I owe you one for this. You gave me the life. The cars. The homes. The flights. The diamonds, the black Gucci sneakers with the spikes...

You put at the top on your arm out the gate 'cause you know where you were goin', bro.

You propagandized and prophesied (and then profited!) this motherfuckin' shit, nigga!

Oh, man. The haters... they don't like me, man. They don't like my attitude. They don't like the way I talk to these hoes. These bitches. These bitch niggas. These ol' fuck ass, broke niggas. Oh, man. I hate you motherfuckerz so bad. I can't wait to shit on your lives, niggas. I can't wait to eat you fuckin' souls.

I'm going to embarrass you. You think you stuntin', nigga? With your 9-5, bullshit job, lil' nigga? You niggas make me laugh.

How much you bitch niggas make a year? I mean, for real, though. $50,000? $100,000? A hundred fifty bands? Man, I did numbers like that in a week.

A week, nigga. Only thing I hadn't mastered at that moment was the art of timing, and fully exploiting an opportunity...

Game's different now.

And I ain't out here movin' no rocks, bro. I'm not flippin' pounds of weed, or Heisenbergin' the fuck outta the meth game...

Although, if I AM... a LOT like Gus.

I'm about to do drug money numbers, NIGGA.