Shit that I'm about to spit is not suitable-
Stab u in the stomach with a saxophone just to say his organs r
musical-Ugh
Arteries Pollutable, your wounds are open for agony that's far to much to take-
I'll spit bullets through trumpets and make you do the Harlem Shake-
Part of his fate, is to recieve beatings from instuments that leave
ya head bleeding-
Smack you across the had with a xylophone, dawg is your head ringing-

Peace-

Next weapon:My body parts