Oldie - Odd Future
[Intro: Taco]
Yo, shout out to everybody that 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 Domyon, shouts out to Frankie Ocean
Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awk
[Verse 1: Tyler the Creator]
The Big eared bandit is tossing all his manners
In a bag and wrapping them in seran wrap bandages
Tossing them in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches
So when he says "catch up, n_gga" it looks like an accident
Um, flowing like my pad is the maxiest
My b_tch white and black like she's been mimicking a panda
It's the dark skinned n_gga, kissing b_tches 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, n_gga, I was just able
Not a f_cking Logic contradicting d_ck head
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 n_gga, but, Golf Wang)
[Verse 2: Hodgy Beats]
To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
But knowing you own your opponent is a defeating 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 jousting
I'm on my Robin Hood sh_t
Robbin' in the hood: whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet
Stealing your rings, coke diamonds and your Vet
Soldiers lace the f_ckin' boot
And salute like the troop when you shoot you gon' poop
It's Killhodgy, n_gga, stay the f_ck off my stoop
And out my Kool aid, Juice
[Verse 3: Left Brain]
Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin
Jasper got the Henny, my n_gga 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
I need a b_tch to go down like a Nitty beat
Yup, uh, and her ass fat
Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at
N_gga I'm tryin' to smoke, b_tch get higher
Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talkin' '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
Yea my n_gga Ace will pull the black jack
The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac
Livin' like the Mafia, b_tch, don't get to slacking up
And if these haters actin' up, throw 'em in the aqueduct
Free my n_gga Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much
But two bad b_tches in front of me cunnilingus
[Verse 4: Mike G]
What the f_ck is caution?
Often I leave you flossin' and cause exes next to coffins
Lost in translation, the dreams you chase
Got you diving for the plates like you stealin' home base
That's great - I'm home alone dreamin' of two on ones
With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on
And Travis is in the closet organizing and hangin' the tramp
Three lettermans that Ace has been makin' him
No strays while we catchin' matinees, huh?
I'm gettin' 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 b_tches 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, n_gga I'm a problem
From Briggs I got bars and plans to
Pimp these Polish b_tches 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 'til I OD and I probably will, uh
[Verse 5: Domo Genesis]
It's still Mr. Smoke-a-lot-of-pot
Get your baby mommy popped with my other snobby bop
Do I love her, prolly not
Know your sh_t is not as hot as anything I f_ckin' drop
B_tch I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay Cock
I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot
Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glock
Now I'm all grown, sing songs just to give 'em watts
Fire what I talk, but still cooler than the otter pop
Op Dom neck sh_t in your wish list
Mad sick sh_t, mad d_ck for your b_tches
On some slick sh_t, your mistress on my hit list
And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff out of this b_tch
Odd in your motherf_ckin' 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 Carey up
And f_ck your team, ho n_gga wassup
Wolf Gang so you know we not givin' no f_cks
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)
[Verse 6: Frank Ocean]
Rent a super car 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 n_gga what can I say
I'm hi and I'm bye, wait I mean I'm straight
I'm a 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 as fly as the rhymes
On the song, cut and you could sample the feel
Headphone bleed, make this sh_t sound real
Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries
Then I made a mill and them psychics was liars
Now, how many f_ckin' crystal balls can I buy and own
Humble old me had to flex for the fogs
Down in Muscle Beach pumpin' iron and bone
Bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
Yea, bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
Bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
[Interlude: Jasper Dolphin]
Goddammit, this rapping is stupid and it's hard
Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go
[Verse 7: Jasper Dolphin]
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
Pot head, half baked, lookin' like Chappelle
Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell
Still ignorant, still hit a b_tch
Wolf Gang, n_gga, so I still don't give a sh_t
Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap
Bong rips as I feel on that little b_tch cat
Hah, n_gga came through with a 9 bar real quick
Just for the b_tches, little bit of money in my pocket
F_ck it, Wolf Gang
[Verse 8: Earl Sweatshirt]
Yeah, f_ck that
Look, for contrast is a pair of lips
Swallowin' sararpin settin' fires to sheriffs whip
F_ckin' all american terrorist
Crushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a f_ckin' carrot stick
And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin'
And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is
Spit to the lips meet the bottom of a barrel
So that sterile piss flow remind these n_ggas where embarrassed is
Narrow, tight line, might impair him
Since I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type
Pharoah f_ckin' I'll appral wearin' pack of parasite
Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise
La di da di back in here to f_ck the party up
Raiding fridges, tipping over vases with a tommy gun
Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks
60 day chips from f_ckin' awesome anonymous
Call him bloated 'til he show them 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
Let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole was numb
Culprit of the potent punch
Scolding hot as dunking scrotum in a Folgers cup - or Nevada
Driving drunk inside a stolen truck
Sh_tting like his colon bust
Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices
I'm roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as the porridge is
Stay gold 'til the case closed and the story end
Post mortem porkin' this rap sh_t 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, who's sure in the base, scorching ladies
These motherf_ckers soarin', torso and face
Get at me with savages, half a pack of Apache
Indian pack of n_ggas who don't give a f_ck and we nasty as flatulence
As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky so see me you can't
Like crunchy black cats in a taxi
Back like lateral passing
With that motherf_cking gladiator manner of rapping
As an addict I let percocets and xannies relax me
Fall back if your paddies is Maxi
Please
[Verse 9: Tyler the Creator]
OF, sh_t that's all I got
From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac
From that father figure Clancy to that skatey n_gga Nak
Shredding down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the f_ckin' block
Storefront, Knee tat
Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks
And grip tape... and my shoes
Um, I was 15 when I first drew that donut
5 years later, for our label yea we own it
I started an empire, I ain't even old enough
To drink a f_ckin' beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop
This is for the n_ggas in the suburbs
And the white kids with n_gga friends who say the n-word
And the ones that got called weird, fag, b_tch, nerd
Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg
They say we ain't actin' right
Always try to turn our f_ckin' color into black and white
But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em
Radical's my anthem, turn my f_ckin' amps up
So instead of critiquing and b_tching, being mad as f_ck
Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as f_ck
B_tches
comments
share this page
