Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
night I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
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
I forgot to call 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
smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to and you're Swayze
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die let's see who can who
With your corny ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had three albums had blew
Now let's talk somethin' I don't really do

Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, Wheaties 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
What do you know?
Know your facts before you come at me, lil'
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had money in '02
To it in front of you, ho
me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me than you

'Til I'm old age
Still can fill a whole with 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 Diddy okay so you spent whole day
Shootin' a just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at own wake, I'm the billy goat
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 putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for
In a state of 'cause 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 you're get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it

injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the
But if I was
You'd up to me, and for the record
You would a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
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 good is a machine gun when it's out of ammo?

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

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

Who else want it? — attempt 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 pops pills and tells him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a the day Diddy admits
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm of you bein' wack
And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

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

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