Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna just hit me on a
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to a heart attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to 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 name yourself after a damn gun and have a man-bun?
The woke, eyes open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and you're
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty who
With your corny lines ("Slim, 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 about somethin' I don't do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth food
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only 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 material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To it in front of you, ho
Younger me? No, 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 page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more than you in your own city, lil' 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 own wake, I'm the billy goat
You ain't never a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting your
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (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 your
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so it
Had to give you a to destroy it

injection
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 would suck a to fuckin' be me for a second
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your life to be as
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo 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 can him and I battle?
He'll to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'Cause he knows, 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 dance it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your leather
You dress better, I rap
a death threat or a love letter?
Little white
Thinks it's a pic, I just don't like you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops and tells him he's 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 sick of you bein'
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

I'm sick of your 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
Just 'cause you in the mirror and think
you're Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't you are, and you're not about it
So just my dick in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

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