[Verse 1: Hodgy Beats]
Prometh flow for the slow sippers
And if you on your paper chasing, I’ma roll with ya
About an onion, it odors a bag of Funyuns
Bitches packaging dozens, fuck ‘em until they malfunction
I laugh my ass off, taking shots like a gunman
I don’t hunt game, motherfucker, I hunt men
Take ‘em to the back of my pick-up truck to rot them
Kill a fuckin’ superhero, I watch the Watchmen
I’m a super-negro, my watch the rocks in
My Glock that’s cocked, loaded, and ready to lock in
Who’s sending n***as to the dirt? Ostriches
Captain holding them captive fucking hostages
Create carnage from cartridges, eating the heart of pigs
To murder, homicide’s a part to live with that
Grab your Teflon, ammunition, and your gat
Unless you wanna get shitted on like porn scat

[Hook: Pusha T]
Oooh, you ain’t sayin’ nada
Guns drawn, n***as scream opera
.38 snub or the chopper
Middle finger goes to the coppers
You better hope the Lord is your doctor
Like, oooh, you ain’t sayin’ nada
Guns drawn, n***as scream, opera
.38 snub or the chopper
Middle finger goes to the coppers
You better hope the Lord is your doctor
Like, oooh
[Verse 2: Pusha T and (Liva Don)]
Hey Hodgy, hey Tyler, don’t mind us
(We kill ‘em all, 50 shots, fuck kindness
In all black Versace dressed in the finest)
We sell it all, even the drugs are designers
Gangsta bitches, Red Monkeys for the ecstasy
(Fuck it, take ‘em all, overdose the recipe
Let them hoes show they true colors-) crew lovers
Passed around like a cold (It’s a zoo of us)
Two brothers, add two others just the news of it
Make the net crash, the ultimate “Who done it?”
(And who knew Sarah Palin with the sniff type daughter knocked up
But she was knocking down Glen Rice)
Been nice since the Wolf Gang was baby pups
(Golf Wang full grown, now they crazy fucks)
Add two dope boys known for taping up
(Kick in the door, now the world ain’t safe enough)

[Hook: Pusha T]
Oooh, you ain’t sayin’ nada
Guns drawn, n***as scream opera
.38 snub or the chopper
Middle finger goes to the coppers
You better hope the Lord is your doctor
Like, oooh, you ain’t sayin’ nada
Guns drawn, n***as scream, opera
.38 snub or the chopper
Middle finger goes to the coppers
You better hope the Lord is your doctor
Like, oooh
[Verse 3: Tyler the Creator]
Spit bars, this hard, teen sixteen bars
I’m fucking the game when its vagina got my dick scarred
Um, sure it’s ‘Preme button up floral
Stack of money, dark shades, looking like a fucking tourist
Or it’s the Tourettes that my fucking neck have
I’m like a average n***a in the 20’s of the 18’s
And I’m not even 20, dropped a classic at my 18
A crazy motherfucker, maybe I should be my stepdad (Come here son)
The wolves finally reconcile
At Interscope office with a bunch of fucking pedophiles
While mouth watering, this shit is sick and fucking vile
Trying to fuck my destiny, they couldn’t find another child