You're fuckin ba it! Lmao
Dear Eminem,
So where do I begin?
You clean my nothing, you claim I'm kin—
But what's the f****** truth, Barbie? Which one is it?
You spit about pain and the gutter, but would you really visit?
Would you sit in this carpool chaos, mismatched socks and all,
Or would you judge from the bleachers, acting ten feet tall?
Let's talk about the Harper Valley High Horses—
You know the type, right? The ones who treat the PTA
Like it's the Supreme Court of Morality,
Passing judgment with a side-eye and a pantsuit.
They're the first to clutch pearls at a "f***" in the hallway,
But you and I both know they'd drop it on a Lego at midnight.
I hear your rhymes about surviving the night,
But would you last a day in my house,
With Lily's wild red hair and Gary's chips for breakfast?
Would you roast the parents for not packing organic,
Or would you admit your own kid's lunch is a bag of Doritos and a prayer?
You said, "It takes a village," but only if you're the mayor,
Sheriff, and HOA president—
Expecting God to kick the broken while they're down,
Judging parents for screen time
While your phone's glued to your hand like a lifeline.
So tell me, Em:
Would you judge me for my scars, or for the mess I let show?
Would you slam the door on my story,
Or would you finally let the broken in?
Because heaven's gonna be real lonely
If it's only for the unbroken and the perfectly coiffed.
You claim you're kin, but do you know what that means?
Would you crawl out from under the high-horse crowd,
Or would you just keep pointing fingers from the stands?
It's easy to judge from the bleachers,
But it takes guts to get on the field and play.
So next time you want to judge a parent—or anyone—
Ask yourself:
Could you survive a day in my chaos,
Or would you just write a song about it and move on?
And one more for the truth, just like Tiffany Jenkins:
Do you still reach for your old vices,
Or do you just rap about pain while hiding the rest?
Because healing starts with honesty, not with hiding—
And I'm done pretending for the Harper Valley crowd.
So, Eminem, what's the f****** truth?
Are you kin, or just another judge in the crowd?
Which one is it?
—Felicia (and every "nice not nice mom" holding it down in the real world)