Drop:
I’m naturally sharp so you’ll never see homie fire off a nine
I’d rather break yo wrist and knock your lights out til’ you flatline
I put sharp at the end of my fists to slice up the punchline
then filet this herb neatly so I eat well at lunchtime
I'll pluck a sharp chord when I tune him on the inside
hang him from a line so he can sharpen up his dull mind
I'll break this disrespectful bitch by rippin' out his weak spine
this gamble’ll put him under six feet inside some cheap pine
he’ll need four score and twenty years to remember these rhymes
after I repackage his flaky white lies into potent dope lines
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