Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

You sound a bitch, bitch
the fuck up!
When your fans your haters
You
Fuckin' weird

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
Realized I forgot to call you
Here's that autograph for 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 woke, eyes open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire
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 before you die let's see who can 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 albums had blew
Now let's talk about I don't really do

Go in someone's daughter's stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, like 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, that's the time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating cereal or
the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last 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 money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, it's funny but so
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 rage
Got more fans than you in own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent whole day
Shootin' a video to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are greatest hits
The game's mine again and 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 for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his name
Now I cock 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

Lethal
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 would suck a to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
Give life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo he's out of bullets
So what is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?

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

Your red sweater, black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a threat or a love letter?
white toothpick
Thinks over a pic, I just 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 losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — attempt fails! — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops and tells him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a the day Diddy admits
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein'
And still usin' that Auto-Tune
So let's talk it (let's talk about it)

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

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