Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a attack
Was 8 Mile 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 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 to Interscope and you're Swayze
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's 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 stealin' food
But a fuckin' mole hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and
Say you'll run up on me like a 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 last four sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three 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 it in front 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

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to blow
Kelly, they'll be putting your
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My flops are your greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't changed but the locks
So I slay this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's your
is it, as big as you're gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a 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 be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
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 it's out of ammo?

Had enough of this tatted-up rapper
How the can him and I battle?
have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's have to live in my shadow
Exhausting, off on my offspring
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of

red sweater, your black leather
You better, I rap better
That a threat or a love letter?
white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just like you, prick
for dissing me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to "Not Alike"
But really, I don't care in the right
But losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's!
nails in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
But idiot's boss pops pills and tells him he's 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 sick of you bein'
And still usin' mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

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

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