Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
night I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm sorry you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to you back
that autograph 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 giant's woke, eyes open,
smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and Swayze
reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty 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 that had blew
Now talk about somethin' I don't really do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth food
But you're a mole hill
Now I'ma a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and
Say you'll run up on me like a bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
What do you know?
Know your facts you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough 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
can fill a whole page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a 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 that ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest are your greatest hits
The mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So I slay this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
Bein' by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a of bliss 'cause I said 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 gonna get, so it
Had to give you a to destroy it

Lethal
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a
Lick a ballsack to get on my
Give life to be as solidified
This shit is like Rambo 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 mumble
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 Shady he's gon' have to 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
You're salty
'Cause Young balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a threat or a love letter?
Little toothpick
it's over a pic, I just don't like you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to "Not Alike"
But really, I don't who's in the right
But you're the fight you picked

Who else it? Kells — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as soft as
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a the day Diddy admits
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And still usin' that mothafuckin'
So let's talk about it (let's talk it)

I'm sick of your mumble rap
to get the cock up out it
Before we can even talk it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your hair and earrings
Just 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 mouth and my daughter out it

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