Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' beard
We doin' this
You yellin' at the mic, your beard's
Why you at the mic? (Illa)

Rihanna just hit me on a
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm sorry you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to you back
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 stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to and you're Swayze
Your 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 albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do

Go in someone'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 barrel to my marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me a phone bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you cereal or oatmeal?
What the in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
What do you Oops
your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
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 but so true
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you

'Til I'm old age
Still can fill a whole with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you your whole day
Shootin' a video to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
your 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
look up to me, and for the record
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your life to be as
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 tatted-up mumble rapper
How the fuck can him and I
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
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 dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
You're salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a letter?
white toothpick
Thinks over 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 losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm 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 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 about it (let's talk it)

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

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