Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

You at the mic, fuckin' weird beard
We doin' this
You yellin' at the mic, your beard's
Why you yell at the (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 have a heart
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to call you
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I it on a Starter cap
Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you gonna name yourself after a gun
And a man-bun?
The giant's woke, open, undeniable
smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and you're
Your 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 outselling you
By 29, I had three albums had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do
Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But a fuckin' mole hill
Now I'ma a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my bone
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say run up on me like a phone 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? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...
"Yo, Slim, your four albums sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To it in front of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, funny but so true
I'd rather be me than 20-year-old you
I'm hitting old age
Still can a whole page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, kiddy, go play
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
a video just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't never made a list to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in
brain, you Satanist (yeah)
My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine again and ain't changed but the locks
So before I this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick 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 moment
is it, as big as you're gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a career to it
injection
Go to sleep six deep, I'll 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 your life to be as
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo he's out of bullets
So what good is a machine gun when it's out of ammo?
Had enough of this tatted-up mumble
How the fuck can him and I
He'll to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' have to 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
fuckin' salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, black leather
You better, I rap better
That a threat or a love letter?
Little white
it's 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 care who's in the right
But you're losin' the fight you
Who else want it? 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 admits
That he put the hit out 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 talk about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
Just 'cause you in the mirror and think
That you're Marshall (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and not about it
So just leave my dick in your mouth and keep my out it

You fuckin'... oh
And I'm just playin',
You know I you