Oldie Letra

Artista: OFWGKTA

Letra de canción de música

Oldie letra de OFWGKTA

(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)

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, 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 able

Not a fucking Logic contradicting dick 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

Man (tried to get that nigga, 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 shit

Robbin' in the hood: whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet

Stealing your rings, coke diamonds and your Vet

Soldiers lace the fuckin' boot

And salute like the troop when you shoot you gon' poop

It's Killhodgy, nigga, stay the fu*koff 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 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

I need a bitch to go down like a Nitty beat

Yup, uh, and her ass fat

Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at

Nigga I'm tryin' to smoke, bitch 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 nigga Ace will pull the black jack

The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac

Livin' like the Mafia, bitch, don't get to slacking up

And if these haters actin' 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)

What the fu*kis 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 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-lot-of-pot

Get your baby mommy popped with my other snobby bop

Do I love her, prolly not

Know your shit is not as hot as anything I fuckin' drop

Bitch 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 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 out of this bitch

Odd in your motherfuckin' 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 fu*kyour team, ho nigga 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

(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 nigga what can I say

I'm hi and I'm bye, wait I mean I'm straight

I'm a give 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 shit sound real

Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries

Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars

Now, how many fuckin' 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

(Verse 7: Jasper Dolphin)

Goddammit, this rapping is stupid and it's hard

Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go

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 bitch

Wolf Gang, nigga, so I still don't give a shit

Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap

Bong rips as I feel on that little bitch cat

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

(Verse 8: Earl Sweatshirt)

Yeah, fu*kthat

Look, for contrast is a pair of lips

Swallowin' syrup and settin' fires to sheriffs whip

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 to 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

Pharoah fuckin' pillow tear wearin' pack of parasite

Threw his own loofa off the roof after paradise

La di da di back in here to fu*kthe party up

Raiding fridges, tipping over vases with a tommy gun

Never dollars, pop would make it rain hockey pucks

60 day chips from fuckin' 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

Shitting 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 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, who's sure in the base, scorching ladies

Fortunately these motherfuckers soarin', torso and face

Get at me with savages, have a pack of Apache

Indian pack of niggas who don't give a fu*kif 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 motherfucking 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, 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 Naks

Shredding 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 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 fuckin' beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop

This is for the niggers in the suburbs

And the white kids with nigger friends who say the n-word

And the ones that 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 bitching, being mad as fuck

Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as fuck

Bitches

(Outro:)

OFM, bangin' on your FM

Gnaw, 2011, yea

Golf Wang

OFWGKTA Playlist

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