Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
night I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a heart
Was watchin' 8 on my NordicTrack
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 name yourself after a damn gun and have a man-bun?
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 let's see who can 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 had blew
Now talk about somethin' I don't really do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth food
But you're a mole hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
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 eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need material
...Dictionary...

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

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a page with a 10-year-old's rage
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 your own wake, I'm the goat
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting your
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your greatest
The game's again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I cock 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 you a career to destroy it

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

Had enough of this tatted-up rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll 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 dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Young Gerald's inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your black
You dress better, I rap
a death threat or a love letter?
Little white
it's over a pic, I just don't like you, prick
Thanks for 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 fight you

Who else it? Kells — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as as Cottonelle
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with the Doc still
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 wack
And usin' 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 talk about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
Just you look in the mirror and think
That you're Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and you're not it
So just leave my in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

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