Oldies

Odd Future - Oldie

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

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 shes been mimicking a panda

Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela
Put her in the chamber all against her Will Chamberlain
I never had a reason, n*gga, I was just able

Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit
Semen scented cheetah printed tee
In that Preme five panel, Ill repeat it for the season
Previous items in the present
With the normal ass past like I cheated on my team
Man (tried to get that n*gga, but, Golf Wang)

To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
But knowing you own your opponent is a defeating bonus
Im 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 an went jousting
Im on my Robin Hood ****
Robbin in the hood: whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet
Im stealing your rings, coke diamonds and your Vet
Soldiers lace the f*ckin boot
And salute like the troop when they shoot you gon poop

And out my Kool aid, juice

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
Dont be surprised if I ask where the hash at

Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talkin bout a lighter
Still bang salute me or just shoot me
Cause if you dont 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, dont get to slacking up
And if these haters actin up, throw em in the aqueduct
Free my n*gga Earl, yo, I dont really ask for much
But two bad b*tches in front of me cunnilingus

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
Thats great - Im 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?
Im gettin blazed thinking bout those days
I had the top off the GT3 like toupees
One finger in the air,alls 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 dont 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 Im 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 its gonna be real
OF til I OD and I probably will, uh

Its still Mr. Smoke-a-lot-of-pot
Get your baby mommy popped with my other snobby bop
Do I love her, prolly not

B*tch Im in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay Cock
Ive been runnin blocks since a snotty tot
Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glock
Now Im all grown, sing songs just to give em watts
Fire what I talk, but still cooler than the otter pop
Op Dom neck **** in your wish list

On some slick ****, your mistress on my hit list
And Im lifted til Im 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

Wolf Gang so you know we not givin no f*cks
You know me dog, Ima chill in the cut so I can
Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up

(Getme a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga)

Rent a super car for a day
Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze
Bro, easy on the ounce, thats a lot for a day
But just enough for a week, my n*gga what can I say
Im hi and Im bye, wait I mean Im straight
Ima get you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes
My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day
Course you know the vibes as fly as the rhymes
On the song, cut and you could sample the feel
Headphone bleed, make this **** sound real
Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries
Then I made a mil 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

Goddammit, this rapping is stupid and its hard
Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go
Hey its Jasper, not even a rapper
Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster
Got a TV show, so I guess Im 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

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*ckit, Wolf Gang

Yeah, f*ck that
Look, the contrast is a pair of lips
Swallowin syrup and 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
Pharaoh f*ckin pillow tear wearin pack of parasite
Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise
Ladidadi back in here to f*ck the party up
Raiding fridges, tipping over vases with a tommy gun
Never dollars , pop would 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, and a cobra clutch
Vocals bold and rough, evoke a ho to pose his drum
Let me hit him, hit it with a stick until the ho was numb
Culprit of the potent punch
Scolding hot as dunking scrotum in a Folgers cup - or Nevada
Driving drunk inside a stolen truck
******** like his colon bust
Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
Supernova, Im rollin over the novices
Im 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 **** 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, whos sure in the base , scorching ladies
Motherf*ckers soarin, torso and face
Get at me with savages, have a pack of Apache

As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky so see me you cant
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

OF, **** thats all I got
From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac
From that father figure Clancy to that skatey n*gga Naks
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 aint even old enough
To drink a f*ckin beer, Im tipsy off this soda pop
This is for the niggers 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 aint actin right
Always try to turn our f*ckin color into black and white
But theyll never change em, never understand em
Radicals my anthem, turn my f*ckinamps up

Just admit, not only are we talented, were rad as f*ck
B*tches

OFM, bangin on your FM
Gnaw, 2011, yea
Golf Wang