Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left on her neck
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 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to call you
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 a damn gun and have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, eyes open,
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
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 let's see who can who
your corny lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm outselling you
By 29, I had albums that had blew
Now let's about somethin' 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, actin' like you put the chrome to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you hold (hold up)
Are you eating cereal or
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, last four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
What do you Oops
your facts before 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 20-year-old you

'Til I'm 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
like 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 your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't never made a next to no Biggie, no Jay
to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your hits
The game's mine again and ain't changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
Bein' by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I his goddamn name
Now I cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's your
This is it, as big as gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to you a career to destroy it

Lethal
Go to sleep six deep, I'll give you a B for the effort
But if I was
You'd up to me, and for the record
You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a
a ballsack to get on my channel
Give life to be as solidified
This shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So what good is a machine gun when it's out of ammo?

Had enough of tatted-up mumble rapper
How the can him and I battle?
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 around it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep of Halsey

Your red sweater, your black
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a 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 don't care who's in the
But you're the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — 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 and tells him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day Diddy
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm of you bein' wack
And still that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

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

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