Earl Sweatshirt, Tyler, The Creator - Whoa lyrics

Nah, no, nah, nah, fuck that
Niggas think 'cause you fucking
Made "Chum" and
Got all personal that niggas won't
Go back to that old fucking 2010
Shit about talking 'bout
Fucking everything-all
No, fuck that, nigga, I got you fuck that

Grab mittens, who have to spit blizzardous
Actually, flick cigarette ash at bitch niggas
Harassment, eight nickels of
Hash, delay quick, and then
Dash to Saint Nicholas pad to taste venison
Still in the business of smacking
Up little rappers with
Racquets you play tennis with
Hated for bank lifting and
Spraying then hide away in the
Shade of his maimed innocence
Suitcase scented with haze
And filetted sentences
Advanced apathy, smashing the man cameras up
Tan khakis, an antagonist Dan dappered up
Ha, vagabond, had it since a Padawan
Rapping hot as fucking cattle
Brands wearing flannel thongs
Grab a bong, mama and some food, beer
Tag along
Get a nice spanking, uh, new Sears catalog
Send them nettled critics to the bezel stop
Dead and wrong get 'em higher than the pitch
Of metal tea-kettle songs (Bitch-ass niggas)

Four deep in a Rover cannon
Riding dirty through a Saugus canyon
Niggas know that it's the G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G 50k for the last check
But the Dollar Menu still be on deck
Nigga it's the mothafuckin' G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Yeah, the misadventures of a shit talker
Pissed as Rick Ross's fifth sip
Off his sixth lager
Known to sit and wash the sins
Off at the pitch alter
Hat never backwards like the
Print off legit manga
Get it? Like a blue pill
Make ya stick longer
Or a swift fist off your
Chin from his wrist launcher
Chick, chronic thrift shopper
Thick like the Knicks roster
Stormed off and came straight
Back like pigs' posture pen? Naw
Probably written with some used syringes
From out the rubbish bin at
Your local loony clinic
Watching movies in a room full
Of goons he rented
On the hunt for clues, more food
And some floozy women
Bruising gimmicks with the broom he
Usually use for Quidditch
Gooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch
Chewed and booty-scented too pretentious
Do pretend like he could lose with spitting
Steaming tubes of poop and twisted
Doobies full of euphemisms
Stupid, thought it up, jot it quick
Thaw it out
Toss it right back like a vodka fifth
Spot him on a rocket swapping
Dollars in for pocket lint
Then lob a wad of chicken at
A copper on some Flocka shit

Posing nigga try to disrespect
Get a fucking thunder to his neck
Shout out to Nak
'Cause it's the G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
Looking bummy, posted on the block
Like I ain't make a quarter
Million off of socks, nigga
'Cause it's the G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G bitch niggas
Wolf Gang (Motherfucker)
Golf Wang, nigga (Lil' bitch-ass niggas)
Trashwang, Loiter Squad
(This motherfuckin’ nigga)
Yeah (Can't hang with us, nigga)
Stay off the block, niggas (You not welcome)
You not welcome (Motherfucker)
Circa ’08, bitch! yeah (OF, nigga)