Luyện nghe bài hát KILLSHOT (MGK Diss)

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a heart
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to call you
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 woke, eyes 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
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
With your corny lines ("Slim, old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had three that had blew
Now let's talk about I don't really do

Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' mole
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my 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 hold (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was 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, it's funny but so
I'd rather be me than 20-year-old you

'Til I'm old age
Still can fill a whole page 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 okay so you spent your whole day
a video just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be your 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 nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
your moment
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it

injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll you a B for the effort
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a
Lick a ballsack to get on my
your life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when out of ammo?

Had enough of tatted-up mumble rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
I'll him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady gon' 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
fuckin' salty
'Cause Young balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your leather
You better, I rap better
a death threat or a love letter?
Little toothpick
it's 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 don't who's in the right
But you're losin' the you picked

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
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 Diddy
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And still usin' mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's about it (let's talk about it)

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

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