Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

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

just hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her
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 have a heart
Was watchin' 8 on my NordicTrack
I forgot to call you back
Here's that autograph for daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap

Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad mad
But how you name yourself after a damn 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 got the crowd 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 that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do

Go in daughter's mouth stealin' food
But a fuckin' mole hill
Now make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you still (hold up)
Are you cereal or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
...Dictionary...

"Yo, Slim, your last four albums
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three ago
do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, lil'
Luxury, oh, you broke, Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To it in front 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 page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your day
Shootin' a video to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't never a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting name
Next to Ja, to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in
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 bitch I, mwah, give Jade a
wake up Labor Day to this (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 your
This is it, as big as you're get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a to destroy it

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

Had enough of this mumble rapper
How the can him and I battle?
have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's have 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 fuckin'
'Cause Young Gerald's inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your leather
You dress better, I rap
That a death threat or a letter?
Little white
Thinks it's over a pic, I just like you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I care who's in the right
But you're the fight you picked

Who else want it? — attempt fails! Budden — L's!
Fuckin' in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc
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
he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein'
And still usin' mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk it (let's talk about it)

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

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