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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just 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 Mile on my
I forgot to call 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
smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and Swayze
Your reply got the yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
With your 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 daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a mole hill
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 phone bill, sprayin' (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating 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, your four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
What do you know?
Know your facts before you come at me, goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the me, it's funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me 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
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent whole day
Shootin' a video just to dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be your name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' but the locks
So I slay this bitch I, mwah, give Jade 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 his goddamn name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's your
This is it, as big as you're get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it

Lethal
Go to six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the effort
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give 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 of this tatted-up mumble rapper
How the fuck can him and I
He'll have to Kim in my flannel
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm he's 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 Gerald's balls-deep of Halsey

red sweater, your black leather
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a love
white toothpick
Thinks over a pic, I just don't like 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 you're losin' the you picked

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

I'm sick of your mumble rap
Need to get the up out it
Before we can even talk it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your hair and earrings
Just 'cause you look in the mirror and
That you're Marshall (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 know I you