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[Intro: Taco] |
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Yo, shout out to everybody that worked on the album, you feel me, son? |
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Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas |
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Shouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left Brizzle |
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Shouts out to Domyen, shouts out to Frankie Ocean |
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Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awwwwk |
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[Verse 1: Tyler the Creator] |
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The big eared bandit is tossin' all his manners |
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In a bag and wrappin' them in Saran wrap bandages |
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Tossin' 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches |
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So when he says "Catch up, *************" it looks like an accident |
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Um, flowin' like my pad is the maxiest |
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My ************* white and black like she's been mimickin' a panda |
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It's the dark skinned *************, kissin' *********** in Canada |
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Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela |
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Put her in the chamber all against her Wilt Chamberlain |
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I never had a Reason, ************* I was just Ableton |
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Not a ***********' Logic contradictin' *********** head |
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Flyer than an ostrich mo***********n' in a tar pit |
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*********** scented cheetah printed tee |
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In that 'Preme five panel, I'll repeat it for the season |
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Previous items in the present |
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With the normal ass past like I cheated on my team |
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It's me (Tried to get that *************, but, Golf Wang) |
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[Verse 2: Hodgy Beats] |
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To have some type of knowledge that is one perception |
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But knowin' you own your opponent is a defeatin' bonus |
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I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless |
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Smiles of cowards in lead showers, dead spouses in red blouses |
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Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went joustin' |
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I'm on my Robin Hood ***********t, robbing in the hood |
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Whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealin' your rims |
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Coke diamonds and your Vette, soldiers lace the ***********' boot |
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And salute like the troop when they shoot you gon' brrrooop |
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It's KillHodgy, *************, stay the *********** off my stoop |
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And out my Kool aid, Juice |
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[Verse 3: Left Brain] |
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Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin |
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Jasper got the Henny, my ************* we get it in |
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Wolf Gang party at the hotel |
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I call a ho, you call a ho, and all the hoes tell |
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You know Left Brain need a freak |
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I need a ************* to go down like a Nitty beat |
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Yup, uh, and her ass fat |
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Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at |
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************* I'm tryna smoke, ************* get higher |
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Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talking 'bout a lighter |
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Still bang salute me or just shoot me |
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Cause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shooting |
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Yeah my ************* Ace will pull the black jack |
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The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac |
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We like the mafia, *************, don't get to slacking up |
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And if these haters acting up, throw 'em in the aqueduct |
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Free my ************* Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much |
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But two bad *********** in front of me ************* |
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[Verse 4: Mike G] |
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What the *********** is caution? |
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Often I leave 'em flossing in KAWS, exes next to coffins |
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Lost in translation, the dreams you chase |
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Got you diving for the plates like you stealing home base |
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That's great, I'm home alone dreaming of two on ones |
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With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on |
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And Travis is in the closet organizing and hanging the tramp |
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Three lettermans that Ace has been making him |
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No strays while we catching matinees, huh? |
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I'm getting blazed thinking 'bout those days |
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I had the top off the GT3 like toupees |
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One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays |
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My grand scheme of things is to be attached |
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To the game like *********** to their wedding rings |
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And you don't even need to look cause we gleam obscene |
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In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond ***********ning |
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Like the Ba***********an logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem |
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If you say "Get 'em Mike G" then I got 'em |
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One man squadron, ************* I'm a problem |
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From Briggs I got bars and plans to |
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Pimp these Polish *********** into pop stars |
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Humanity kills, we all suffer from insanity still |
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And if I said it then it is or it's gonna be real |
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OF 'til I OD and I probably will, uh |
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[Verse 5: Domo Genesis] |
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It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-Pot, get your baby mommy popped |
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With my other snobby bop, do I love her? Prolly not |
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Know your ***********t is not as hot as anything I ***********' drop |
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************* I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay *********** |
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I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot |
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Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glocks |
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Now I'm all grown, same song, just a different waltz |
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Fire what I talk, but still cooler than an Otter Pop |
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Op, Dom next ***********t in your wish list |
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Mad sick ***********t, mad *********** for your *********** |
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On some slick ***********t, your mistress on my hit list |
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And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff outta this ************* |
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Odd in your ***********' area |
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Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya |
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Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya |
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Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carrey up |
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And *********** your team, ho ************* wassup |
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Wolf Gang so you know we not giving no ***********s |
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You know me dog, I'm a chill in the cut so I can |
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Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up |
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[Interlude] |
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Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga |
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[Verse 6: Frank Ocean] |
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Rent a super car for a day |
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Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze |
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Bro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day |
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But just enough for a week, my ************* what can I say |
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I'm hi and I'm bi, wait I mean I'm straight |
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I'mma give you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes |
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My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day |
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Course you know the vibe's as fly as the rhymes |
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On the song, cut and you could sample the feel |
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Headphone bleed, make this ***********t sound real |
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Used to work the grill, Fatburger and fries |
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Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars |
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Now, how many ***********g crystal *********** can I buy and own |
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Humble old me had to flex for the folks |
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Down in Muscle Beach pumping iron and bone |
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Bumping oldies off my cellular phone |
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Yeah, bumping oldies off my cellular phone |
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[Interlude: Jasper Dolphin] |
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Goddammit, this rapping is stupid and it's hard |
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Gotta do it over and over and over again but here it go |
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[Verse 7: Jasper Dolphin] |
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Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapper |
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Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster |
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Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor |
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Pot head, half baked, lookin' like Chappelle |
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Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell |
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Still ignorant, still hit a ************* |
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Wolf Gang, *************, so I still don't give a ***********t |
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Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap |
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Bong rips as I feel on that little ************* cat |
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[Interlude] |
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Hah, ************* came through with a 9 bar real quick |
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Just for the ***********, little bit of money in my pocket |
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*********** it, Wolf Gang (Yeah, *********** that) |
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[Verse 8: Earl Sweat***********rt] |
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Look, for contrast, here's a pair of lips |
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Swallowin' sarapin and settin' fire to sheriff's whips |
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(Whoops, whoops!) ***********' All-American terrorist |
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Cru***********n' rapper larynx to feed 'em a ***********' carrot stick |
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And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin' |
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And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is |
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Spit til' the lips meet the bottom of a barrel, so that sterile piss |
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Flow remind these *************s where embarrassed is |
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Narrow, tight line, might impair him since |
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I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type |
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Feral, ***********'-ill-apparel-wearin' pack of parasites |
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Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise |
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La di da di, back in here to *********** the party up |
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Raidin' fridges, tippin' over vases with a tommy gun |
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Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks |
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And 60 day chips from ***********' awesome anonymous |
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Call him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxe |
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Off the wall loafers, Four Loko and a cobra clutch |
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Vocals bold and rough, evoke a ho to pose as drum |
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And let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole is numb |
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The culprit of the potent punch |
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Scoldin' hot as dunkin' ************* in a Folgers cup |
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Or Nevada, drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck |
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***********ttin' like his colon bust |
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Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum |
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Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices |
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And roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as his porridge is |
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Stay gold 'til the case closed and the story end |
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Post mortem porkin' this rap ***********t and record it |
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To escort it to the morgue again, lord of lips |
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Bored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list |
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Stormin' the gate, ensurin' the bass |
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Scorchin', leave these mother***********ers sore in torso and face |
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Get at me, we savages, half a pack of Apache |
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Indian pack of *************s who don't give a *********** if we nasty as flatulence |
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As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky |
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So see me you can't like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxi |
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Uh, back like lateral passin' |
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With that ***********' gladiator manner of rappin' |
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As an addict I let Percocet and Xannies relax me |
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Fall back if your paddies is Maxi, please |
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[Verse 9: Tyler the Creator] |
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OF, ***********t that's all I got |
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From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac |
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From that father figure Clancy to that skatey ************* Nak |
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Shreddin' down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the ***********' block |
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Storefront, knee tat |
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Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks |
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And grip tape...and my shoes |
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Um, I was 15 when I first drew that donut |
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5 years later, for our label yea we own it |
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I started an empire, I ain't even old enough |
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To drink a ***********g beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop |
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This is for the niggers in the suburbs |
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And the white kids with nigger friends who say the n-word |
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And the ones that got called weird, fag, *************, nerd |
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Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg |
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They say we ain't actin' right |
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Always try to turn our ***********' color into black and white |
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But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em |
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Radical's my anthem, turn my ***********g amps up |
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So instead of critiquing and *************in', bein' mad as *********** |
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Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as ***********, *********** |
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[Outro] |
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OFM, banging on your FM |
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Gnaw, 2011, yeah, Golf Wang |
