[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, n***a," 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 n***a, 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, n***a, 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
Previous items in the present
With the normal-ass past like I cheated on my team
It's me

[Verse 2: 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, n***a, 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
[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 3: 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, n***a, 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]
Hah, n***a came through with a 9-bar real quick
Just for the bitches, little bit of money in my pocket
Fuck it, Wolf Gang


[Verse 4: XXXTENTACION]
Pussy popper
Young Waka Flocka
We shakin' like maracas
Don't forget Sinatra
My bitch is like Rihanna
Betty yet Beyoncé
Had to take her top off, gun shots'a pop off
Mi nuh fuck 'round with dem bwoy dem, dem
Bwoy dem get chop off
Tell di bwoy fi gwaan fi him
Gyal and suck him bloodclaat
Dick stains let my dick hang like a nunchuk
Anyway, I can't bitch, I'm just tryna get my nut sucked
Hah, so fuck luck
Bitch, it's pure skill when I gun bust
Glocks like .50 on my n***as, acupuncture
Fuck like, it’s a shit night
Get your mind right, only way a n***a coolin' if I get high, right?
High up in the sky, right?
Motherfucka' cloud all my n***as in the ground right now
And I bash like Zao, like Pow
Mind within the comic, I'm so high right now
So pass that
Skinny motherfucker, won’t you tell me where the cash at?
I’m about to end a n***a life so where the stash at?
Got about 20 fuckin' mil', just chilling in my backpack
Call a fat bitch then I hit it in her ass crack
[Verse 5: 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 n***a 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 niggers in the suburbs
And the white kids with n***a 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]
OFM, banging on your FM
Gnaw, 2011, yeah
Golf Wang