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 this 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 dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to you back
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a 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, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and you're
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty who
With your lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't 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 marrow
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' (brrt)
dead, that's the only time you hold 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 need reading
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had enough in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, the wack me, it's funny but so true
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 fans than you in your own city, kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy 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 never a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your greatest
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' but the locks
So before I 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 state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's moment
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so 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 to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
your life to be as solidified
This shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So good is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?

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

Your red sweater, black leather
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a love
Little white
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 who's in the right
But losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day admits
he put the hit out that 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 about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of blonde hair and earrings
'cause you look in the mirror and think
That you're Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't you are, and you're 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 I love you