Luyện nghe bài hát Killshot

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

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' beard
We this once
You yellin' at the mic, your 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 me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my
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 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 Interscope and Swayze
Your got the crowd 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 outselling you
By 29, I had three albums that had
Now let's talk somethin' I don't really do

Go in someone's daughter's mouth 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 ain't a bow and
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading
...Dictionary...

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

I'm hitting 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
Feel like I'm Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy
You ain't made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor 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' in vain
Alien brain, you (yeah)

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

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

Had enough of this tatted-up mumble
How the can him and I battle?
He'll have to fuck Kim in my
I'll him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' to live in my shadow
Exhausting, letting off on my
a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You dance around it a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin'
'Cause Young Gerald's inside of Halsey

Your red sweater, your black
You better, I rap better
That a threat or a love letter?
Little toothpick
it's over a pic, I just don't like you, prick
Thanks for me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to "Not Alike"
But really, I care 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 soft as
Killshot, I not fail, I'm with 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
That he put the hit out got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein'
And usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So talk about it (let's talk about it)

I'm sick of 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 hair and
Just 'cause you in the mirror and think
That Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and not about it
So leave my dick in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

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