Oldie

Yo, shout out to everybody worked on the album, you feel me, son?

Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas

Shouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left Brizzle

Shouts out to Domyen, shouts outs to Frankie Ocean

Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy, awk

I told them ****

The big-eared bandit is tossin' all his manners in a bag and wrappin' them in Saran wrap bandages

Tossin' 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches

So when he says, "Catch up, ****," it looks like an accident

Um, flowing like my pad is the maxiest

My bitch white and black like she's been mimicking a panda

It's the dark-skinned ****, kissing bitches in Canada

Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela

Put her in the chamber all against her Wilt Chamberlain

I never had a Reason, ****, I was just Ableton

Not a fucking Logic-contradicting dick head

Not a Logic

Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit

Semen-scented, cheetah-printed tee

In that 'Preme five-panel, I'll repeat it for the season

Previous items in the present with the normal-ass past like I cheated on my team

It's me

Tried to get that ****, but Golf Wang

See, he did come back though

To have some type of knowledge, that is one perception

But knowin' you own your opponent is a defeatin' bonus

I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless

Smiles of cowards in lead showers, dead spouses in red blouses

Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went joustin'

I'm on my Robin Hood shit, robbing in the hood, whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet

I'm stealin' your rims, coke diamonds and your 'Vette, soldiers lace the fuckin' boot

And salute like the troop, when they shoot, you gon' brroop

It's KILLHodgy, ****, stay the fuck off my stoop

And out my Kool-Aid, Juice

Yo, what's the fuck up, ****?

What's up, bitch?

Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin

Jasper got the Henny, my ****, we get it in

Wolf Gang party at the hotel

I call a ho, you call a ho, and all the hoes tell

You know Left Brain need a freak (Yeah)

I need a bitch to go down like Anita be

Yup, uh, and her ass fat

Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at

What up?

****, I'm tryna smoke, bitch, get higher

What up? What's up? Smoke

Domo, where that Flocka Flame? Talking 'bout a lighter

Still bang salute me or just shoot me

'Cause if you don't salute me, then my team will do the shooting

Yeah, my **** Ace will pull the black jack

The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac

We like the mafia, bitch, don't get to slacking up

And if these haters acting up, throw 'em in the aqueduct

Free my **** Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much

But two bad bitches in front of me cunnilingus

We out here

What the fuck is caution?

Often, I leave 'em flossing in KAWS, exes next to coffins

Lost in translation, the dreams you chase

Got you diving for the plates like you stealing home base

That's great, I'm home alone dreaming of two-on-ones

With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on

And Travis is in the closet organizing and hanging the tramp

Three lettermans that Ace has been making him

No strays while we catching matinees, huh?

I'm getting blazed thinking 'bout those days

I had the top off the GT3 like toupees

One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays

My grand scheme of things is to be attached

To the game like bitches to their wedding rings

And you don't even need to look 'cause we gleam obscene

In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shining

Like the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem

If you say, "Get 'em, Mike G," then I got 'em

One-man squadron, ****, I'm a problem

From Briggs, I got bars and plans to pimp these Polish bitches into pop stars

Humanity kills, we all suffer from insanity still, and if I said it, then it is, or it's gonna be real

OF till I OD, and I probably will, uh

It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-Pot, get your baby mommy popped

With my other snobby bop, do I love her? Probably not

Know your shit is not as hot as anything I fuckin' drop

Bitch, I'm in the zone, stand alone like Macaulay Culk'

I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot

Big Wheel was a big deal with the water Glocks

Now I'm all grown, same song, just a different waltz

Fire what I talk, but still cooler than an Otter Pop

Opp, Dom next shit in your wish list

Mad sick shit, mad dick for your bitches

On some slick shit, your mistress on my hit list

And I'm lifted till I'm stiff outta this bitch

Odd in your motherfuckin' area

Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya

Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya

Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carrey up

And fuck your team, ho, ****, wassup?

Wolf Gang so you know we not givin' no fucks

You know me, dog, I'm a chill in the cut

So I can cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up

Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga

Right, right

Rent a supercar for a day

Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze

Bro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day

But just enough for a week, my ****, what can I say?

I'm high, and I'm bi, wait, I mean I'm straight

I'ma get you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes

My brother, give it some time, Morris, and Day

Course you know the vibe's just as fly as the rhymes

On the song, cut, and you could sample the feel

Headphone bleed, make this shit sound real

Used to work the grill, Fatburger and fries

Then I made a mil', and them psychics was liars

Now, how many fucking crystal balls can I buy and own?

Humble old me had to flex for the folks

Down in Muscle Beach pumping iron and bone

Bumping oldies off my cellular phone

Yeah, bumping oldies off my cellular phone

Bumping oldies off my cellular phone

Goddammit, rapping is stupid, and it's hard

Gotta do it over and over and over again, but here it go

Hey, it's Jasper, not even a rapper

Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster

Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor

Pothead, half-baked, lookin' like Chappelle

Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell

Still ignorant, still hit a bitch

Wolf Gang, ****, so I still don't give a shit

Catch me in the back with Miley's on my lap

Bong rips as I feel on that little bitch cat

Hah, **** came through with a 9-bar real quick

Just for the bitches, little bit of money in my pocket

Fuck it, Wolf Gang

Yeah, fuck that

Look, for contrast, here's a pair of lips

Swallowin' Sarapin, settin' fire to sheriff's whips

Whoops, whoops, fuckin' all-American terrorist

Crushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a fuckin' carrot stick

And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin'

And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is

Spit till the lips meet the bottom of a barrel, so that sterile piss

Flow remind these **** where embarrassed is

Narrow, tight line, might impair him since

I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type

Feral, fuckin' ill-apparel-wearin' pack of parasites

Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise

La-di-da-di, back in here to fuck the party up

Raidin' fridges, tippin' over vases with a tommy gun

Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks

And sixty-day chips from fuckin' awesome anonymous

Call him bloated till he show 'em that the flow deluxe

Off-the-wall loafers, Four Loko in a cobra clutch

Vocals bold and rough, evoke a ho to pose as drum

And let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole is numb

The culprit of the potent punch

Scaldin' hot as dunkin' scrotum in a Folgers cup

Or Nevada, drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck

Shittin' like his colon bust

Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum

Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices

And roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as his porridge is

Stay gold till the case closed and the story end

Post mortem porkin' this rap shit and record it

To escort it to the morgue again

Lord of lips, bored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list

Stormin' the gate, ensurin' the bass

Scorchin', leave these motherfuckers sore in torso and face (Ugh)

Get at me, we savages, half a pack of Apache

Indian pack of **** who don't give a fuck if we nasty as flatulence

As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky

So see me, you can't, like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxi

Mmm, back like lateral passing

With that motherfuckin' gladiator manner of rapping

As an addict, I let Percocet and Xannies relax me

Fall back if your paddies is Maxi, please

OF, shit, that's all I got

From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac

From that father figure Clancy to that skatey **** Nak

Shredding down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the fuckin' block

Storefront, knee tat

Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks

And grip tape and my shoes

Um, I was fifteen when I first drew that donut

Five years later, for our label, yeah, we own it

I started an empire, I ain't even old enough

To drink a fucking beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop

This is for the **** in the suburbs

And the white kids with **** friends that say the n-word

And the ones that got called weird, fag, bitch, nerd

'Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg

They say we ain't actin' right

Always try to turn our fuckin' color into black and white

But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em

Radical's my anthem, turn my fuckin' amps up

So instead of critiquing and bitchin', bein' mad as fuck

Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as fuck, bitches

OFM, bangin' on your FM

Gnaw, 2011, yeah

Golf Wang