[Intro: Tyler, The Creator]
Yeah, yeah
Alright, um, Wolf Haley, Odd Future, Wolf Gang n***a
You know-

[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt]
So I'm guessing there's questions that need addressing, huh?
Like how we fresh in our adolescence and wrecking 'em
Hand 'em tracks, he destined to make a mess of 'em
Snapping necks and records in matter of seconds, check 'em son
Lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun
Fucking chin-checking punks 'til he's outta breath and done
No FX, in these doper than sess sessions son
Chilling for a while on a pile of the rest of 'em
Let the crowd choose who can fucking last longer
It's the rap monger, rap monster, Earl Sweat, attack, conquer
Lose least, n***as lost like the last blanca chica
That we picked up at the last concert
Please, get out your seat, get out your seat, verses written with scalpels
He's the junior king standing out shouting on the balcony
How come he's not in counseling? Fucker's loud while he's sound asleep
Heard he was dope as Sour D, n***a, was Courage cowardly?
Stay gold, alchemy, n***a we rap's alpha team
Mr. Teen and Mr. T with a mouth full of powder
And a nose full of chowder, he's chopping up all the doubters see
Now watch him count the bodies like bitches be counting calories
[Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator]
Fuck with the Wolves, we starting to bark viciously
Catch us in a pile of bodies where dead bitches be
Box Logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand
That Bastard was buzzing like Woody so we get it for free
Had to duct tape the mother goose; the mask was off
I stumbled down a hill then I had Jill jack me off
Harder than my dick when Taylor Swift is in my basement
Cause I've been doing this since Pooh fucked Christopher Robinson
Wolf Gang knitted on my cotton like some smelly
Dirty rotten n***a picked it from a cotton gin
Do not give a fuck I've got the swagger of a virgin's dick
But if I did it would be bigger than Earl's upper lip
Sip sizzurp, Supreme on my shizzirt
I munch a bunch of tacos with Waverly's favorite wizard
The favorite n***a turned into Freddy Kruger
And this that raw shit, dead bodies chopped up in the sewer
From the palms of Jeffrey Dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks
Beat like the brown lip balm that was made for Rihanna
All you fucking bloggin' faggots yappin' up that extra shit
I'll shove Bastard down your throat, regurgitate my-