The OF posse cut on the mixtape. To consider Odd Future a viable franchise going forward, listeners needed reminding why they demanded such attention in the first place. Answering the call was the full-on… Read More [Intro: Taco & Tyler, the Creator] 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 Domyen, shouts out to Frankie Ocean Shouts out to Syd the Dude Shouts out to L-Boy, awwwwk I told them niggas haha [Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator] 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, nigga," 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 nigga, 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, nigga, I was just Ableton Not a fucking Logic-contradicting dickhead (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 (Hahaha) Previous items in the present With the normal-ass past like I cheated on my team It's me (Tried to get that nigga, but, Golf Wang see, he did come back, though) [Verse 2: Hodgy] 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' brrrooop It's KILLHodgy, nigga, stay the fuck off my stoop And out my Kool-Aid, Juice [Verse 3: Left Brain] What's up, bitch? Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin Jasper got the Henny, my nigga, 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 Nigga, I'm tryna smoke, bitch, get higher (What up, 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 nigga 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 nigga Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much But two bad bitches in front of me cunnilingus [Verse 4: Mike G] (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, nigga, 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 'til I OD and I probably will, uh [Verse 5: Domo Genesis] 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 Op, 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 'til I'm stiff outta this bitch Odd in your motherfuckin' area (Motherfuckin' area) Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya ('Fore I bury ya) Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya (Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya) Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carrey up And fuck your team, ho, nigga, wassup? (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 [Interlude: Frank Ocean] Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga Right, right [Verse 6: Frank Ocean] 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 nigga, 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, fat burger 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 [Interlude: Jasper Dolphin] Goddammit! Rapping is stupid and it's hard Gotta do it over and over and over again but here it 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 Pothead, half-baked, lookin' like Chappelle Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell (Woo) Still ignorant, still hit a bitch (Wow) Wolf Gang, nigga, so I still don't give a shit (Woo) Catch me in the back with Miley's on my lap (Shit) Bong rips as I feel on that little bitch cat (Cat) [Interlude: Jasper Dolphin & Earl Sweatshirt] Hah, nigga 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 [Verse 8: Earl Sweatshirt] 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 'til the lips meet the bottom of a barrel, so that sterile piss Flow remind these niggas 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 'til 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 Scoldin' hot as dunkin' scrotum in a Folgers cup Or Nevada, drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck And 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 'til 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 niggas 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 Uh, back like lateral passin' With that motherfuckin' gladiator manner of rappin' As an addict, I let Percocet and Xannies relax me Fall back if your paddies is Maxi, please [Verse 9: Tyler, The Creator] 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 nigga Nak Shreddin' 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 niggas in the suburbs And the white kids with nigga friends that say the n-word And the ones who 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 [Outro: Tyler, The Creator & Chloe Clancy] OFM, bangin' on your FM Gnaw, 2011, yeah Golf Wang