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