You sound like a bitch, the fuck up! When your fans your haters You Fuckin' weird You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' weird We doin' this You yellin' at the mic, your beard's Why you at the mic? (Illa)
Rihanna hit me on a text Last night I hickeys on her neck Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed Insult me in a line, compliment me on the Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to 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 name yourself a damn gun and have 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 call to Interscope and you're Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!" So before you die let's see who can who With your corny lines ("Slim, 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 about I don't really do
Go in someone's daughter's stealin' food But you're a mole hill Now I'ma a mountain out of you, woo! Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my bone Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and Say run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' lead (brrt) Playin' dead, that's the only you hold still (hold up) Are you cereal or oatmeal? the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios? 'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need material ...Dictionary...
"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago What do you Oops Know your facts 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, you're the wack me, it's funny but so I'd rather be 80-year-old me 20-year-old you
'Til I'm old age Still can fill a whole page with a 10-year-old's Got more fans you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play like 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 Taylor and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow Kelly, be putting your name to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker! Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain Alien brain, you (yeah)
My biggest flops are your greatest The game's mine again and ain't changed but the locks So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, Jade a kiss Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?) Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my for clickbait In a state of bliss I said his goddamn name Now I cock back, aim Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop) your moment This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it Had to give you a 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 like when he's out of bullets So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when out of ammo?
Had enough of this tatted-up rapper How the fuck can him and I He'll have to Kim in my flannel I'll him my sandals 'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's have to live 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 You're fuckin' 'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, black leather You better, I rap better That a death threat or a love 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 care who's in the right But you're losin' the fight you
Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's! Fuckin' nails in coffins as soft as Cottonelle 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 he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah! I'm of you bein' wack And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune 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 even about it (talk about it) I'm sick of blonde hair and earrings Just 'cause you look in the and think you're Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) Don't mean you are, and not about it So just leave my dick in your mouth and my daughter out it
You fuckin'... oh And I'm just playin', You I love you