Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm
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
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a cap

Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you name yourself after a damn gun and have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to and you're Swayze
Your reply got the yelling, "Woo!"
So you die let's see who can out-petty who
With your corny ("Slim, you're 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 really do

Go in someone's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' mole
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 bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you cereal or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
do you know? Oops
Know facts before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, 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 page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a video just to 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 and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be your name
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 mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
Gotta up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my 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 your
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so it
Had to you a career to destroy it

Lethal
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
Lick a ballsack to get on my
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 fuck can him and I
have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll him my sandals
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 dance it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
'Cause Young balls-deep inside of Halsey

red sweater, your black leather
You dress better, I rap
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 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 want it? — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
But this idiot's boss pills and tells 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 bein'
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk it (let's talk about it)

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

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