Luyện nghe bài hát KILLSHOT (MGK Diss)

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to you back
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 damn 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 to Interscope and you're Swayze
reply 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 still you
By 29, I had three that had blew
Now let's talk somethin' I don't really 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 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, milk? or Cheerios?
I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had enough in '02
To it in front of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you

'Til I'm old age
Still can a whole page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a video just to dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My flops are your greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the
So before I slay this I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for
In a state of bliss I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's moment
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a career to it

injection
Go to six feet deep, I'll 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 your to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of
So what is a fuckin' 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, as I'm Shady he's 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 salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

red sweater, your black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death threat or a letter?
white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I don't care who's in the
But you're the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
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 usin' mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's talk it)

I'm sick of mumble rap mouth
to get the cock up out it
Before we can even about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your hair and earrings
Just you look in the mirror and think
That Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and you're not it
So leave my dick in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

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