Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm sorry you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to call you
Here's that for your 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 a man-bun?
The woke, eyes open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one to Interscope and you're Swayze
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
With 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 somethin' I really do
Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a mole hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, lead (brrt)
dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you cereal 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 albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
What do you know?
Know your facts you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money 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
I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
like 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 own wake, I'm the billy goat
You ain't never made a list to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)
My biggest flops are greatest hits
The game's again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, Jade a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this!

your moment
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy 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 be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
Give your to be as solidified
mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So good is a fuckin' machine gun when 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
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' have to live in my
Exhausting, off on my offspring
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, your leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death threat or a love
Little white
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't you, prick
for dissing me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I don't care in the right
But losin' the fight you picked
Who else it? Kells—attempt fails! Budden—L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day admits
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And still usin' that mothafuckin'
So talk about it (let's talk about it)
I'm of your mumble 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 look in the mirror and
That you're Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and not about it
So just leave my in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

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