Earl Sweatshirt - Oldies (Feat. Tyler The Creator) Lyrics
[Intro: Taco]Yo, shout out to everybody that worked on the album, you feel me, son?Yo, shouts out to Ty DollasShouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left BrizzleShouts out to Domyen, shouts out to Frankie OceanShouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awwwwk[Verse 1: Tyler the Creator]The big eared bandit is tossin' all his mannersIn a bag and wrappin' them in Saran wrap bandagesTossin' 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwichesSo when he says "Catch up, nigga" it looks like an accidentUm, flowin' like my pad is the maxiestMy ***** white and black like she's been mimickin' a pandaIt's the dark skinned nigga, kissin' *****es in CanadaThen kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did PamelaPut her in the chamber all against her Wilt ChamberlainI never had a Reason, nigga I was just AbletonNot a *****in' Logic contradictin' dick headFlyer than an ostrich moshin' in a tar pitSemen scented cheetah printed teeIn that 'Preme five panel, I'll repeat it for the seasonPrevious items in the presentWith the normal ass past like I cheated on my teamIt's me (Tried to get that nigga, but, Golf Wang)[Verse 2: Hodgy Beats]To have some type of knowledge that is one perceptionBut knowin' you own your opponent is a defeatin' bonusI'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is bonelessSmiles of cowards in lead showers, dead spouses in red blousesChildren who fled houses on Mustang horses and went joustin'I'm on my Robin Hood shit, robbing in the hoodWhips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealin' your rimsCoke diamonds and your Vette, soldiers lace the *****in' bootAnd salute like the troop when they shoot you gon' brrrooopIt's KillHodgy, nigga, stay the ***** off my stoopAnd out my Kool aid, Juice[Verse 3: Left Brain]Hodgy got the juice, I got the ginJasper got the Henny, my nigga we get it inWolf Gang party at the hotelI call a ho, you call a ho, and all the hoes tellYou know Left Brain need a freakI need a ***** to go down like a Nitty beatYup, uh, and her ass fatDon't be surprised if I ask where the hash atNigga I'm tryna smoke, ***** get higherDomo where that Flocka Flame? Talking 'bout a lighterStill bang salute me or just shoot meCause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shootingYeah my nigga Ace will pull the black jackThe king Mike G is in the cut with the black macWe like the mafia, *****, don't get to slacking upAnd if these haters acting up, throw 'em in the aqueductFree my nigga Earl, yo, I don't really ask for muchBut two bad *****es in front of me cunnilingus[Verse 4: Mike G]What the ***** is caution?Often I leave 'em flossing in KAWS, exes next to coffinsLost in translation, the dreams you chaseGot you diving for the plates like you stealing home baseThat's great, I'm home alone dreaming of two on onesWith Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it onAnd Travis is in the closet organizing and hanging the trampThree lettermans that Ace has been making himNo strays while we catching matinees, huh?I'm getting blazed thinking 'bout those daysI had the top off the GT3 like toupeesOne finger in the air, all's fair when crime paysMy grand scheme of things is to be attachedTo the game like *****es to their wedding ringsAnd you don't even need to look cause we gleam obsceneIn the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shiningLike the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to HarlemIf you say "Get 'em Mike G" then I got 'emOne man squadron, nigga I'm a problemFrom Briggs I got bars and plans toPimp these Polish *****es into pop starsHumanity kills, we all suffer from insanity stillAnd if I said it then it is or it's gonna be realOF 'til I OD and I probably will, uh[Verse 5: Domo Genesis]It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-Pot, get your baby mommy poppedWith my other snobby bop, do I love her? Prolly notKnow your shit is not as hot as anything I *****in' drop***** I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay *****I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty totBig wheel was a big deal with the water GlocksNow I'm all grown, same song, just a different waltzFire what I talk, but still cooler than an Otter PopOp, Dom next shit in your wish listMad sick shit, mad dick for your *****esOn some slick shit, your mistress on my hit listAnd I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff outta this *****Odd in your motha*****in' areaBlood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury yaSuicide flow, let the big wave carry yaTyler got the mask like he held Jim Carrey upAnd ***** your team, ho nigga wassupWolf Gang so you know we not giving no *****sYou know me dog, I'm a chill in the cut so I canCut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up[Interlude]Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga[Verse 6: Frank Ocean]Rent a super car for a dayDrive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that hazeBro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a dayBut just enough for a week, my nigga what can I sayI'm hi and I'm bi, wait I mean I'm straightI'mma give you this wine, the runner just brought the grapesMy brother give it some time, Morris, and DayCourse you know the vibe's as fly as the rhymesOn the song, cut and you could sample the feelHeadphone bleed, make this shit sound realUsed to work the grill, Fatburger and friesThen I made a mil and them psychics was liarsNow, how many *****ing crystal balls can I buy and ownHumble old me had to flex for the folksDown in Muscle Beach pumping iron and boneBumping oldies off my cellular phoneYeah, bumping oldies off my cellular phone[Interlude: Jasper Dolphin]Goddammit, this rapping is stupid and it's hardGotta do it over and over and over again but here it go[Verse 7: Jasper Dolphin]Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapperOnly on this beat to make my racks grow fasterGot a TV show, so I guess I'm an actorPot head, half baked, lookin' like ChappelleRollin' up a blunt with that fire from hellStill ignorant, still hit a *****Wolf Gang, nigga, so I still don't give a shitCatch me in the back with Miley on my lapBong rips as I feel on that little ***** cat[Interlude]Hah, nigga came through with a 9 bar real quickJust for the *****es, little bit of money in my pocket***** it, Wolf Gang (Yeah, ***** that)[Verse 8: Earl Sweatshirt]Look, for contrast, here's a pair of lipsSwallowin' sarapin and settin' fire to sheriff's whips(Whoops, whoops!) *****in' All-American terroristCrushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a *****in' carrot stickAnd me? I just spent a year Ferrisin'And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics isSpit til' the lips meet the bottom of a barrel, so that sterile pissFlow remind these niggas where embarrassed isNarrow, tight line, might impair him sinceI made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero typeFeral, *****in'-ill-apparel-wearin' pack of parasitesThrew his own youth off the roof after paradiseLa di da di, back in here to ***** the party upRaidin' fridges, tippin' over vases with a tommy gunNever dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucksAnd 60 day chips from *****in' awesome anonymousCall him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxeOff the wall loafers, Four Loko and a cobra clutchVocals bold and rough, evoke a ho to pose as drumAnd let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole is numbThe culprit of the potent punchScoldin' hot as dunkin' scrotum in a Folgers cupOr Nevada, drivin' drunk inside a stolen truckShittin' like his colon bustBelly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleumSupernova, I'm rollin' over the novicesAnd roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as his porridge isStay gold 'til the case closed and the story endPost mortem porkin' this rap shit and record itTo escort it to the morgue again, lord of lipsBored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 listStormin' the gate, ensurin' the bassScorchin', leave these mother*****ers sore in torso and faceGet at me, we savages, half a pack of ApacheIndian pack of niggas who don't give a ***** if we nasty as flatulenceAs a matter of fact, your swagger is tackySo see me you can't like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxiUh, back like lateral passin'With that motha*****in' gladiator manner of rappin'As an addict I let Percocet and Xannies relax meFall back if your paddies is Maxi, please[Verse 9: Tyler the Creator]OF, shit that's all I gotFrom my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother TacFrom that father figure Clancy to that skatey nigga NakShreddin' down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the *****in' blockStorefront, knee tatBook cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socksAnd grip tape...and my shoesUm, I was 15 when I first drew that donut5 years later, for our label yea we own itI started an empire, I ain't even old enoughTo drink a *****ing beer, I'm tipsy off this soda popThis is for the niggers in the suburbsAnd the white kids with nigger friends who say the n-wordAnd the ones that got called weird, fag, *****, nerdCause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven SpielbergThey say we ain't actin' rightAlways try to turn our *****in' color into black and whiteBut they'll never change 'em, never understand 'emRadical's my anthem, turn my *****ing amps upSo instead of critiquing and *****in', bein' mad as *****Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as *****, *****es[Outro]OFM, banging on your FMGnaw, 2011, yeah, Golf Wang
