Oldie Letra |
Artista: OFWGKTA
Letra de canción de música |
Oldie letra de OFWGKTA lyrics
| (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 |
Traducción: - - -
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Con 4167 Visitas y 0 votos
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- Estilo: Hip Hop
- Álbum "The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2" del año (2012) .
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Discografía y :: Biografía.
| The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2 |
| 01 Hi. |
| 02 Bitches |
| 03 NY (Ned Flander) |
| 04 Ya Know |
| 05 Forest Green |
| 06 Lean |
| 07 Analog 2 |
| 08 50 |
| 09 Snow White |
| 10 Rella |
| 11 Real Bitch |
| 12 White |
| 14 Hcapd |
| 15 Sam (Is Dead) |
| 16 Doms |
| 17 We Got Bitches |
| 18 Oldie |
| La Canción 'Oldie' de OFWGKTA ,incluida en su disco 'The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2' en el año 2012 .Este track 18 del álbum The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2 es una de las mejores canciones Hip Hop ,junto a temas como "Oldie" , "Rella" , "Snow White" , "Sam (Is Dead)" , "Lean" , "Analog 2" , del que puedes ver sus letras de música .Con 4167 Visitas y 0 votos con 0,00 de puntuación. Otros discos del artista titulados - "The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2" del año 2012 y 2520 Visitas - "Radical" del año 2010 y 1917 Visitas - Tags: ( Lletra / lyrics ). Oldie Lyrics |
