Song Lyrics

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

Roland Pemberton

The duration of Sharks is 3:59 minutes and seconds.