Album: Not released on an album (2018)
Charted: 13 3
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  • You sound like a bitch, bitch
    Shut the fuck up
    When your fans become your haters
    You done?
    Fuck, your beard's weird
    You yellin' at the mic, you weird beard
    We doin' this once
    Your beard's weird, why you yellin' at the mic?

    Rihanna just hit me on a text
    Last night I left hickeys on her neck
    Wait, you just dissed me? I'm perplexed
    Insult me in a line, compliment me on the next, damn
    I'm really sorry you want me to have a heart attack
    Was watchin' 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
    Realized I forgot to call you back
    Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap
    Stan, Stan, son, listen, man, dad isn't mad
    But how you gonna name yourself after a damn gun and have a man bun?
    The giant's woke, eyes open, undeniable
    Supplyin' smoke, got the fire stoked
    Say you got me in a scope, but you grazed me
    I say one call to Interscope and you're Swayze
    Your reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo"
    So before you die let's see who can out-petty who
    With your corny lines (Slim you're old)
    Ow, Kelly, ooh, but I'm 45 and I'm still outselling you
    By 29 I had three albums that had blew
    Now let's talk about somethin' I don't really do
    Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin' food
    But you're a fuckin' mole hill, now I'ma make a mountain out of you, woo!
    Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
    Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
    Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' lead
    Playin' dead, that's the only time you hold still
    Are you eating cereal, or oatmeal?
    What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
    'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
    Yo Slim, your last four albums sucked
    Go back to Recovery, oh shoot, that was three albums ago
    What do you know? Oops, know your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
    Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch?
    Yeah, I had enough money in '02
    To burn it in front of you, ho
    Younger me? No, you the whack me
    It's funny, but so true
    I'd rather be 80 year old me than 20 year old you
    'Til I'm hitting old age, still can fill a whole page with a 10 year old's rage
    Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy
    Go play, feel like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
    Got the Diddy okay so you spent your whole day
    Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own grave
    Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy goat
    You ain't never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
    Next to Taylor Swift, and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
    Kelly, they'll be putting your name
    Next to Ja, next to Benzino, die, motherfucker
    Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailey in vain
    Alien brain, you Satanist (yeah)
    My biggest flops are your greatest hits
    The game's mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
    So before I slay this bitch, mwah, give Jade a kiss
    Gotta wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
    Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
    In a state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
    Now I gotta cock back, aim, yeah, bitch, pop champagne to this
    It's your moment, this is it
    As big as you're gonna get, so enjoy it
    Had to give you a career to destroy it
    Lethal injection, go to sleep six feet deep
    I'll give you a B for the effort, but if I was three
    Foot 11, you'd look up to me, and for the record
    You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
    Lick a ballsack to get on my channel
    Give your life to be as solidified
    This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
    So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?
    Had enough of this tatted-up mumble rapper
    How the fuck can him and I battle?
    He'll have to fuck Kim in my flannel
    I'll give him my sandals
    'Cause he knows long as I'm Shady, he's gon' have to live in my shadow
    Exhausting, letting off on my offspring
    Like a gun barrel, bitch, get off me
    You dance around it like a sombrero, we can all see
    You're fuckin' salty 'cause young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
    Your red sweater, your black leather
    You dress better, I rap better
    That a death threat or a love letter?
    Little white toothpick
    Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't like you, prick
    Thanks for dissing me
    Now I had an excuse on the mic to write, "Not Alike"
    But really, I don't care who's in the right
    But you're losin' the fight you picked
    Who else want it, Kells?
    Attempt fails, Budden, L's
    Fuckin' nails in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
    Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc still
    But this idiot's boss pops pills and tells him he's got skills
    But Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day Diddy admits
    That he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah
    I'm sick of you bein' whack
    And still usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune, so let's talk about it (let's talk about it)
    I'm sick of your mumble rap mouth
    Need to get the cock up out it before we can even talk about it (talk about it)
    I'm sick of your blonde hair and earrings
    Just 'cause you look in the mirror and think you're Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
    Don't mean you are, and you're not about it
    So just leave my dick in your mouth, and keep my daughter out it

    You fuckin', oh
    And I'm just playin', Diddy, you know I love you Writer/s: Marshall Mathers, Ray Illya Fraser
    Publisher: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind


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