Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' weird
We doin' this
You at the mic, your 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 sorry you want me to have a heart attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to you back
Here's autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap

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

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

"Yo, Slim, your four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
What do you Oops
Know your facts before you at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough 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 than you

'Til I'm old age
Still can fill a whole page with a rage
Got fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a video to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You ain't never a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

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

injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll you a B for the effort
But if I was
You'd up to me, and for the record
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 mumble
How the fuck can him and I
have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' to live in my shadow
Exhausting, off on my offspring
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You around it like a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

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

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

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

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