Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You sound like a bitch,
Shut the up!
When your fans become your
You
Fuckin' weird

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to a heart attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to call you
that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap

Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you gonna name yourself after a damn gun and have a
The giant's woke, open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and you're
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty who
With your 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 about somethin' I don't do

Go in someone's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome to my bone marrow
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you eating cereal or
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, lil'
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 rather be 80-year-old me 20-year-old you

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
a video just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at own wake, I'm the billy goat
You ain't made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's again 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 said his name
Now I gotta 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

Lethal
Go to sleep six deep, I'll give you a B for the effort
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
your life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when out of ammo?

Had enough of this tatted-up 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 have to live 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 Young Gerald's balls-deep of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a letter?
white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't like you,
for dissing me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But you're losin' the fight you

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

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

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