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Artist: Earl Sweatshirt f/ Tyler, the Creator
Album:  Earl
Song:   Couch
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

[Earl Sweatshirt]
Was always smartmouthed and quick-witted
but somethin was always missin like six digits
Lucky 7 probably poppa, little nigga so they picked on him, hassled him
Things changed when I hassled back, so
David hit the pavement with this grapple rap, Snapple fact: you rather whack
While I am poppin like a snappin crack
So high you could see like Tallahass, the opposite of cataracts
Matter fact, I am Farmer John milkin cattle tracks
Action packed nipple squeezin, boy colder than sniffle season
Simple genius - go hard and spit bits of semen
So when the street is split, don't act surprised, agree with it
The +Gang+ of +Wolves+ that creeps in crypts as deep as +Dawson's Creek+ and shit
I pray they got gills either that or grab some floaties
I know I got skills, why you think I'm posted boastin?
Braggin; tell these faggots to stop naggin
cause them Wolf Gang niggaz threw them off the bandwagon like

[Tyler, the Creator]
Was always fucked up as shit with it
But I didn't cross the line until the bridge hit it - troll
I got you niggaz nervous like virgins flirtin with Uncle Mervin
Fuckin y'all with no lubricant, go grab the detergent
I preach to demons at your church, now I'm the newest sermon
Wearing nothin but they fuckin blast with the matchin turban
I drive through white suburbans in the black Suburban swervin
Hittin curbs and blastin Erick Sermon drunk off english bourbon
I'm stealin purses rapin nurses I'm a crooked surgeon
Treat the beat like sanitized nazi pussies, I'm a German
I'm squirtin while I'm masturbatin and regurgitatin
from eatin Miley Cyrus salad pussy platter they were servin
My only purpose is to jerk it cause it has a curve
So bitches hate to do me like it's convict community service
This my +Zombie Circus+ you better get a fuckin ticket
Odd Future Wolf Gang like they're filmin Twilight in this bitch

[Earl Sweatshirt]
I'm back on my sixty six sick shit
Flowin like the blood out the competition's slit wrists
She lick it up, Dracula, then spit it back, back at ya
She mad as fuck, stuck in the back of a black Acura
Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her
+Hello Heather+ yellow feathers now you ain't laughin, huh?

[Tyler, the Creator]
Bitch you're barely breathin, leavin on the back of the boat
while I fill you up with semen from the Wolf Gang team and
Flowin like the cream pie inside of your daughter
Oughta eat the bitch with salt and wash it down with a gallon of water
I grab the saw and sawed her arm off and auctioned it
and dip her teeth in gold molds and flossed the shit
Fuckin awesome, spittin box of trees
Got you niggaz shakin like it's Parkinson's
from the clitoris of Kelly Clarkson's dick
Ironin you niggaz, now it's time to starch the shit
Drown your bitch in a tub of cum and throw a shark in it
Find a random abandoned garage and go to park in it
Find Earl laying on the burgundy carpet
Pull my knife out, sharpen it
Stab him, put a arch on it
Pour unleaded gas on him get the Zippo and spark the shit
Hop back in the van and then depart the bitch
Killed him on his own track
The faggot shouldn't have started it...