This is a song about "Sort"

I said ain’t nobody fuckin’ with my clique

I got ways to sort beef like shattering jaws on concrete,

And i can't breath when i'm high cause the airs too thin

Condoms, or any sort of protection

We don't need y'all, the fader's who we really fucking with, bitch

That i had some sort of edge, some kind of advantage,

Thought of, cuz it's sort of...an addiction,

Thought you was a cutie, though your booty mad thin

Yet the kindest sort of soul- ya i know you

And if i do go you better come through

Come take a stab at it faggot, i pre-ordered your casket

At least i'd have some sort of legacy, a chance to ever blow it,

Gotta be a way to sort the operation.

And it's hard to find god when you ain't never seen him

Your sort of like my sister,

You ain't no killer