Killshot Lyrics - Eminem

You sound like a bitch, bitch 

Shut the fuck up! 

When your fans become your haters 

You done? 

Fuckin' beard's weird 

Alright 

You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' weird beard 

We doin' this once 

You yellin' at the mic, your beard's weird 

Why you yell at the mic? (Illa) 

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 

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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 

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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 (brrt) 

Playin' dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up) 

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 

...Dictionary... 

"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're the wack 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' Hailie 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 I, 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! (pop) 

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-eleven 

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 

Lick 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' wack 

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 

That 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