Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, me on the next
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 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 gun and have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one to Interscope and you're Swayze
Your got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die see who can out-petty who
your corny lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm still you
By 29, I had three albums that had
Now let's about somethin' I don't really do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth food
But you're a mole hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the 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, that's the only time you hold (hold up)
Are you cereal or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, 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 me, it's funny but so true
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page with a 10-year-old's
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go
like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
brain, you Satanist (yeah)

My biggest are your greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the
So before I slay this 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 of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's moment
is it, as big as you're gonna get, so enjoy 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
look up to me, and for the record
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
your life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like when he's out of bullets
So what good is a machine gun when it's out of ammo?

Had enough of this mumble rapper
How the can him and I battle?
He'll to fuck Kim in my flannel
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' to live in my shadow
Exhausting, letting off on my
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You around 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 death or a love letter?
white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just 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 losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as as Cottonelle
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and tells him 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 still usin' that mothafuckin'
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

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

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