Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You like a bitch, bitch
the fuck up!
When your fans become haters
You
Fuckin' beard's

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' beard
We doin' once
You yellin' at the mic, your beard's
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 sorry you want me to a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 on my NordicTrack
Realized I to call you back
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I it on a Starter cap
Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you name yourself after a damn gun
And 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 Swayze
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty who
your corny lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had three albums that had
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do
Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin'
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now I'ma a mountain 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)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you eating cereal or
the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...
"Yo, Slim, your last four sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me than you
I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)
My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine again and nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, Jade a kiss
wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my for clickbait
In a state of 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this!

It's moment
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so 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
look up to me, and for the record
You would suck a dick to be me for a second
Lick a ballsack to get on my
Give life 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 this tatted-up rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll have to Kim in my flannel
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's have to live in my shadow
Exhausting, off on my offspring
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You around it like a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of
Your red sweater, your black
You dress better, I rap
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 on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But you're the fight you picked
Who else want it? fails! Budden—L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as soft as
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this idiot's boss 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 bein'
And still usin' 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 talk about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your hair and earrings
Just 'cause you in the mirror 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 just playin',
You I love you