Earl Sweatshirt - Whoa (Feat. Tyler The Creator) Lyrics
[Intro: Tyler, the Creator]Nahh, no, nahh, nahh, ***** that. Niggas think cause you *****ing made "Chum" and got all personal that niggas won't go back to that old *****ing 2010 shit about talking 'bout *****ing everything...all. No, ***** that nigga, I got you. ***** that.[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt]Grab mittens who have to spit blizzardousActually flick cigarette ash at ***** niggasHarassment, ate nickels of hash, delay quick, and thenDash to Saint Nicholas pad to taste venisonStill in the business of smacking up little rappers withRaquets you play tennis with, hated for bank lifting andSpraying then hide away in the shade of his maimed innocenceSuitcase scented with haze and filetted sentencesAdvanced apathy, smashing the man cameras upTan khakis, an antagonist Dan-dappered upVagabond, had it since a PadawanRapping hot as *****ing cattle brands wearing flannel thongsGrab a bong, momma and some food, beer, tag alongGet a nice spanking, new Sears catalogSend them nettled critics to the bezzle stop, dead and wrongGet 'em higher than the pitch of metal tea kettle songs[Hook: Tyler, the Creator]Four deep in a Rover cannonRiding dirty through a Saugus canyon, niggas know that it's theG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-GG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G50 K for the last checkBut the Dollar Menu still be on deck, nigga it's the mother*****in'G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-GG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]Yeah, the misadventures of a shit-talkerPissed as Rick Ross's fifth sip off his sixth lagerKnown to sit and wash the sins off at the pitch alterHat never backwards like the print off legit mangaGet it? Like a blue pill, make ya stick longerOr a swift fist off your chin from his wrist launcherChick, chronic thrift shopper, thick like the Knicks rosterStormed off and came straight back like pigs' posturePen? Naw, probably written with some used syringesFrom out the rubbish bin at your local loony clinicWatching movies in a room full of goons he rentedOn the hunt for clues, more food, and some floozy womenBruising gimmicks with the broom he usually use for QuidditchGooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch, chewed and booty scentedToo pretentious, do pretend like he could lose with spittingSteaming tubes of poop and twisted doobies full of euphemismsStupid, thought it up, jot it quick, thaw it outToss it right back like a vodka fifthSpot him on a rocket swapping dollars in for pocket lintThen lob a wad of chicken at a copper on some Flocka shit[Hook: Tyler, the Creator]Posing nigga try to disrespectGet a *****ing thunder to his neck, shout out to Nak, cause it's theG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-GG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-GLooking bummy, posted on the block, looking like I ain't makeA quarter million off of socks, nigga, cause it's theG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-GG-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
