Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

You yellin' at the mic, 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 hickeys on her
Wait, you dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a attack
Was 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I 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 gonna name yourself a damn gun and have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you me
I say one call to Interscope and 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 three albums had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't do

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

"Yo, Slim, your four albums sucked
Go to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
What do you know?
Know your facts before you 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 but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me 20-year-old you

I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own
Got you at your own wake, I'm the goat
You ain't never made a list to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to blow
Kelly, be putting your name
to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

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

injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the
But if I was
You'd look up to me, and for the
You suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a ballsack to get on my
your life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when 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 have to Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my
he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' have to live in my shadow
Exhausting, letting off on my
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You dance it like a sombrero, we can all see
fuckin' salty
'Cause Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, black leather
You better, I rap better
That a death threat or a love
Little toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't like you,
Thanks for me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to "Not Alike"
But really, I don't care in the right
But losin' 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 pills and him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day admits
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you wack
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's about it)

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

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