KILLSHOT LYRICS : Eminem Diss Track To Machine Gun Kelly


You sound like a bitch, bitch

Shut the fuck up!

When your fans become your haters

You done?

Fuckin’ beard’s weird

All right

You yellin’ at the mic, you weird beard

We doin’ this once

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

Why you yellin’ at the mic? (Illa)



Rihanna just hit me on the 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 (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


“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

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 kill, 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



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