Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You like a bitch, bitch
Shut the up!
When your become your haters
You
beard's weird

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' beard
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 hickeys on her neck
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to a heart attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
I forgot to call you back
Here's autograph for your 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 and you're Swayze
Your got the crowd 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 albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I really do

Go in someone's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now I'ma make a 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 you'll run up on me like a phone bill, lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you hold (hold up)
Are you cereal 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 to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
What do you know?
Know your facts before you come at me, lil'
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd be 80-year-old 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 you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the okay so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig own grave
Got you at own wake, I'm the billy goat
You ain't never made a list to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

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

Lethal
Go to six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the effort
But if I was
look up to me, and for the record
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your life to be as
This mothafuckin' shit is Rambo when he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' gun when it's out of ammo?

Had enough of tatted-up mumble rapper
How the fuck can him and I
have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'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 dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep of Halsey

Your red sweater, your black
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a letter?
Little white
Thinks it's over a pic, I 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 who's in the
But you're losin' the fight you

Who want it? Kells — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with 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 sick of you bein'
And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So talk about it (let's talk about it)

I'm sick of mumble rap mouth
to get the cock up out it
Before we can even talk it (talk about it)
I'm sick of blonde 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 dick in mouth and keep my daughter out it

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