[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt] So I'm guessin' there's questions that need addressin', huh? Like how we fresh in our adolescence and wreckin' 'em Hand'em tracks, he destined to make a mess of 'em Snappin' necks and records in matter of seconds check 'em son Lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun F*ckin' chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done No FX, in these doper than cess sessions son Chillin' for a while on a pile of the rest of 'em Let the crowd choose who can f*ckin' last longer It's the rap monger, rap monster Earl Sweat attack, conquer Lose least, n*ggas lost like the last blanca chica That we picked up at the last concert Please, get out ya seat, get out ya seat, verses written with scalpels He's the junior king standin' out shoutin' on the balcony How come he's not in counselin'? F*cka's loud while he's sound asleep Heard he was dope as Sour D, n*gga was Courage cowardly? Stay Gold, alchemy, n*gga we rap's Alpha Team Mr. Teen and Mr. T with a mouth full of powder And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see Now watch him count the bodies like b*tches be countin' calories
[Verse 2: Tyler the Creator] Courtesy of lyricshall.com F*ck with the Wolf, we startin' to bark viciously Catch us in a pile of bodies where dead b*tches be Box Logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand That Bastard was buzzin' like Woody so we get it for free Had to duct tape the mother goose the mask was off I stumbled down a hill then I had Jill jack me off Harder than my d*ck when Taylor Swift is in my basement Cause I've been doin' this since Pooh f*cked Christopher Robin, son Wolf Gang knitted on my cotton like some smelly Dirty rotten n*gga picked it from a cotton gin Do not give a f*ck I've got the swagger of a virgin's dick But if I did it would be bigger than Earl's upper lip Sip sizzurp, Supreme on my shizzirt I munch a bunch of tacos with Waverly's favorite wizard The favorite n*gga turned into Freddy Kruger And this that raw shit, dead bodies chopped up in the sewer From the palms of Jeffrey Dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks Beat like the brown lip balm that was made for Rihanna All you f*ckin' bloggin' faggots yappin' up that extra shit I'll shove Bastard down your throat, regurgitate my excrement Them 2DopeBoyz is fairies they're Peter like boysenberries Meet the scary, turn his white ass to a Jim Carrey twin A f*ckin' sausage fest will them shaky n*ggas get married then 2DopeBoyz don't want beef, they're just overweight vegetariansTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
