Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna just hit me on a
Last night I left on her neck
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, 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 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 call to and you're Swayze
Your reply got the 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 that had
Now talk about somethin' I don't really do

Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a mole hill
Now I'ma a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome 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, that's the only time you hold (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, last four albums sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
What do you Oops
your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To it in front of you, ho
me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me 20-year-old you

'Til I'm old age
Still can a whole page with 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 okay so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You ain't never made a list to no Biggie, no Jay
to Taylor 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 last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

My flops are your greatest hits
The game's again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
Gotta wake up Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I 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 give you a B for the
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your to be as solidified
This shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun it's out of ammo?

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

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

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as soft as
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
But this idiot's boss pops and tells him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day Diddy
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein'
And still usin' mothafuckin' 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 talk about it (talk it)
I'm sick of your hair and earrings
Just 'cause you look in the mirror and
That you're Marshall (Marshall Mathers)
Don't you are, and you're not about it
So just leave my dick in your and keep my daughter out it

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