Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You like a bitch, bitch
the fuck up!
When your fans 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 at the mic? (Illa)

just hit me on a text
Last night I left on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to call you
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 a damn gun and have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, open, undeniable
smoke, got the fire 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 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 that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I really do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin'
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
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me a phone bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only 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 need material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
What do you Oops
Know your 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, funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me 20-year-old you

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the okay so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really
Kelly, they'll be your name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in
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 this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Day to this (the fuck?)
rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's moment
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a career to it

Lethal
Go to sleep six feet deep, give 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 fuckin' be me for a
Lick a ballsack to get on my
Give your 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 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, 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 it like 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
That a death threat or a letter?
Little white
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 care who's in the right
But you're losin' the you picked

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

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

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