Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to call you
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a 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, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
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 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 let's talk about somethin' I really 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 bone
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
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 eating cereal or
What the in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you 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 me, it's 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 with a rage
Got more fans you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting 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 ain't never made a next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

My biggest flops are greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' but the locks
So before I slay this I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick 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 give you a career to it

Lethal
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 suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo he's out of bullets
So what is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?

Had enough of this tatted-up 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 he's gon' have to live 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
You're salty
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death threat or a love
Little white
Thinks 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 in the right
But you're the fight you picked

Who want it? Kells — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft 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 the day Diddy admits
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And still usin' that mothafuckin'
So let's talk it (let's talk about it)

I'm sick of your rap mouth
Need to get the up out it
Before we can even about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
Just 'cause you look in the mirror and
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 playin', Diddy
You know I you