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