An instrument of airy tune, A glass both fine and long. My leading letter cast aside, I still produce a song

I line your grin in tidy rows, but when you eat, I sometimes stow a bit of lunch I won’t release, a stubborn guest with zero peace.

A ball with the wind, A home on the go, The cap of a house, high or low, An idea in the Valley, A song on the knoll. A fit. A note. A grade on the roll. Nearing the top, so here's the quick jist: It's a gift to be perfect, but the goal is a miss.

I scoop, I stab, I enter your gab; a hybrid creation that brings satiation.

I speak in riddles, swift and sly. A silver tounge, a watchful eye. Deals are struck beneath my grin. I never lose-though I won't quite win. Im fluid wit, I twist, I slip- What name am I both God and drip?