Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really you want me to have a heart attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to you back
Here's that for your daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap
Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you gonna yourself after a damn gun
And have a
The giant's woke, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire
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 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 about I don't really do
Go in someone's daughter's stealin' food
But you're a mole hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or
'Cause I'm takin' a in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...
"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was albums ago
What do you Oops
your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had enough in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you
'Til I'm old age
can fill a whole page 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 okay so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig own grave
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 Iggy ho, you about to blow
Kelly, they'll be your name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)
My biggest flops are your greatest
The game's again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for
In a state of bliss 'cause I his goddamn name
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this!

your moment
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it
Lethal
Go to sleep six feet deep, give you a B for the effort
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 life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun it's out of ammo?
Had enough of this tatted-up rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
I'll him my sandals
'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 it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
'Cause Young Gerald's inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, your leather
You better, I rap better
a death threat or a love letter?
Little toothpick
Thinks it's 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 care in the right
But you're losin' the 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 boss pops pills and tells him got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day Diddy
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm of you bein' wack
And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's about it (let's talk about it)
I'm sick of your rap mouth
Need to get the up out it
Before we can even talk about it (talk it)
I'm sick of your blonde hair and
Just you look in the mirror and think
That you're Mathers (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 I love you