Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

Rihanna hit me on a text
Last night I hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, me on the next
Damn, I'm really you want me to have a heart 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 after a damn gun and have a
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 Interscope and you're
reply 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 three that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do

Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a mole hill
Now I'ma make a out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, like you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, lead (brrt)
dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
What do you Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had enough in '02
To it in front of you, ho
me? No, you're the wack 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 page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent whole day
Shootin' a just 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 ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

My biggest flops are your greatest
The mine again 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?)
Bein' rich-shamed by prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta 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 give you a career to it

injection
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 to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a to get on my channel
Give your to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is 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
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, 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'
Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your black
You better, I rap better
a death threat or a love letter?
Little toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't you, prick
Thanks for 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 losin' the you picked

Who else it? Kells — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as 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 admits
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's talk it)

I'm of your mumble rap mouth
to get the cock up out it
Before we can talk about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde and earrings
Just 'cause you in the mirror and think
That Marshall Mathers (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 just playin',
You know I you