Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left on her neck
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 watchin' 8 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, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and Swayze
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
With your lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had three albums had blew
Now let's talk about I don't really do

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

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

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

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick my name for clickbait
In a of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's moment
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so 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 look up to me, and for the
You would suck a dick to be me for a second
Lick a ballsack to get on my
Give your life to be as
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of
So what good is a fuckin' 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 Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady gon' have 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
You're fuckin'
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of

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

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this idiot's boss 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 wack
And still usin' that Auto-Tune
So let's talk it (let's talk about it)

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

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