Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You sound a bitch, bitch
Shut the up!
When your fans your haters
You
beard's weird

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' beard
We this once
You at the mic, your beard's weird
Why you yell at the (Illa)

Rihanna just hit me on a
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
I forgot to call you back
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a cap

Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you gonna name yourself after a damn gun and a man-bun?
The giant's woke, eyes open,
smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one to Interscope and you're Swayze
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
your corny lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm still you
By 29, I had three albums had blew
Now let's talk somethin' I don't really do

Go in someone's mouth stealin' food
But a fuckin' mole hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, like you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had money in '02
To it in front of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you

'Til I'm old age
can fill a whole page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in own city, lil' kiddy, go play
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You ain't never made a next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting your
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So I slay this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I his goddamn name
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
your moment
This is it, as big as you're get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it

injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll you a B for the effort
But if I was
look up to me, and for the record
You would suck a dick to be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give life to be as solidified
mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So good is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?

Had of this tatted-up mumble rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' have to in my shadow
Exhausting, letting off on my
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You around it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

red sweater, your black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death or a love letter?
white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just like you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But you're losin' the fight you

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's!
nails in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and tells him he's got
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day admits
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein'
And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So talk about it (let's talk about it)

I'm sick of your mumble rap
to get the cock up out it
Before we can even talk about it (talk it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
'cause you look in the mirror and think
That you're Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
mean you are, and you're not about it
So leave my dick in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

You fuckin'... oh
And I'm just playin',
You know I you