Sharks

Old school, new school Need to know this Getcha game up you better keep focus And so I said that they were biters Chalking up lines from all these re-solutes Chip off the writers block with nines that chop against the destitute Evolution of the manor, trade royalties with verses Go with platinum, can't go with Burberry it hurts since A verse gets termed as the worst, but when immersed in your playlist That shit plays first, rehearse all bars Matter harsh scars and battle I bring tall spars with chatter, yet all-stars shatter and split Battered by the sacrend gifts, stolen from affiliates Your rhyme, patter, and rips You shoulda stitched it by hand and mouth, now you shook planning doubts Spitting west while standing south, all in all, success for you is not at all probable When I take you to the lake to find out if your water-soluble I'm sick of bitches typing like their splitting inches off a ruler To be judged by, file pressing consider my style, metric That means stop biting my shit That means start writing your shit No rest for the weary, or the wicked stand witness To know rest for the weapon, I'm a skeet with tradition, now listen This isn't just another sick written from the dark star harm how the sharks that get bitten This is hard taught Don't expect a rescue and don't let me catch you alone in the car park 'Cause shark skin is fashion and that is me Touch your anatomy like down to your car hearts Use to write for a site but I didn't spark smarter Rite bright, you could think it, my first pink slip But this isn't a house by writing bumper stickers It's somethin' you stick it and bump, like a heroin needle See the shit in the trunk is apparently lethal That y'all live to distrupt like American leaders I'm gonna pull quick from the category I run bullshit like a matador, see? That means stop biting my shit That means start writing your shit I'm the rapier, but you fear that the spear that sparred our father harbors pokes Rich rappers might catch a Darva Conger in hoax That the bitch they get with doesn't switch, approach To the sickness, leave you witlessly buying her ropes and Rings and things of that nature, shit all you hear is "Rings this, pitch packs, pagers" To get that paper, she'll fine you a toll of her soul Style Fidel's as hell, looks like a dictator Type a chick that a getcha car stolen Hard toil, she might get up in that ass like shark oil then Again I can see what you thought was a Fargo But you can't trust those with hearts like charcoal I didn't prepare to punk, from when I put 'em in the boat It was a LeBaron trunk I connect for the very best sound and set Now I'm rockin' a tooth right around my neck That means stop biting my shit That means start writing your shit, kid

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