Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a attack
Was watchin' 8 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 after a gun and have a man-bun?
The woke, eyes open, undeniable
smoke, got the fire 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 albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I really do

Go in someone's daughter's stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' mole
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and
Say you'll run up on me a phone 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, Wheaties or Cheerios?
I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, was three albums ago
What do you know?
your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To burn it in of you, ho
Younger me? No, you're the wack me, it's but so true
I'd be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you

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

My biggest flops are your greatest
The game's mine and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to (the fuck?)
rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his name
Now I gotta back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop to this! (pop)
It's your
This is it, as big as 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
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 your life to be as
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of

Had enough of tatted-up 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 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 salty
Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death threat or a love
Little toothpick
Thinks it's 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 care who's in the right
But losin' the fight you picked

Who else want it? Kells — fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm the Doc still
But this boss pops pills 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 sick of you bein'
And still usin' 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 of your blonde hair and earrings
Just you look in the mirror and think
you're Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't you are, and you're not about it
So just leave my dick in your mouth and keep my out it

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