Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, 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
Here's that autograph for daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap
Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you gonna name yourself after a gun
And have a
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
Your reply got the yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die let's see who can who
your corny 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 somethin' I don't really do
Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' mole
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 cereal or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...
"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
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, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd rather be me than 20-year-old you
I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You ain't never made a next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)
My biggest flops are your greatest
The game's mine again and nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this!

It's your
This is it, as big as you're get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a career to it
injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the
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 to get on my channel
Give your to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is Rambo when he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun it's out of ammo?
Had enough of tatted-up mumble rapper
How the fuck can him and I
He'll have to Kim in my flannel
I'll him my sandals
'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 around it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're salty
Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, your leather
You better, I rap better
That a death or a love letter?
Little toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't like you,
Thanks for me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But losin' the fight you picked
Who else it? Kells—attempt fails! Budden—L's!
Fuckin' nails in coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
But this idiot's boss pops 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 wack
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So talk about it (let's talk about it)
I'm sick of mumble rap mouth
to get the cock up out it
Before we can even talk it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
Just 'cause you look in the and think
That you're Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
mean you are, and you're not about it
So just leave my dick in your and keep my daughter out it

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