Artist: Odd Future (OFWGKTA)
Album:  The Odd Future Tape Volume 2
Song:   Oldie
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

[Taco]
Yo shout out to everybody that worked on the album, you feel me son?
Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas
Shouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left Brizzle
Shouts out to Dom-yen, shouts out to Frankie Ocean
Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy
Awwwwwww

[Tyler, the Creator]
The big-eared bandit is tossin all his manners
in a bag and wrappin them in Saran wrap bandages
Tossin 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches
So when he says ketchup/catch-up, it looks like an accident
Ummm, flowing like my pad is the maxiest
My bitch white and black like she's been mimicking a panda
It's the dark skinned nigga, kissing bitches in Canada
Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela
Put her in the chamber, all against her Wilt Chamberlain
I never had a Reason, nigga I was just Ableton
Not a fuckin logic, contradicting dick head
Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit
Semen scented cheetah printed tee
In that 'Preme five panel, I'll repeat it for the season
Previous items in the present
With the normal-ass past like I cheated on my team
It's me
(Man, tried to get that nigga but, Golf Wang)

[Hodgy Beats]
To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
but knowin you own your opponent is a defeating bonus
I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridges boneless
Smiles of cowards in lead showers
Dead spouses in red blouses
Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went jousting
I'm on my Robin Hood shit, robbin in the hood
Whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealing your rims
Coke diamonds and your Vette, soldiers lace the fuckin boot
And salute like the troop, when they shoot you gon' BRRRP
It's Kill Hodgy, nigga stay the fuck off my stoop
And out my Kool-Aid... juice!

[Left Brain]
Whassup BITCH~?!
Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin
Jasper got the Henny, my nigga we get it in
Wolf Gang party at the hotel
I call a hoe, you call a hoe, and all the hoes tell
You know Left Brain need a freak
I need a bitch to go down like a Nitty beat
Yup... uhh, and her ass fat
Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at
Nigga I'm tryin to smoke, bitch get higher
Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talkin 'bout a lighter
Still bang salute me or just shoot me
Cause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shooting
Yeah my nigga Ace will pull your blackjack
The king Mike G's in the cut with the black Mac
We like the mafia bitch, don't get to slackin up
And if these haters actin up we throw 'em in the aquaduct
Free my nigga Earl yo, I don't really ask for much
but two bad bitches in front of me cunnilingus

[Mike G]
Y'all hear; what the fuck is caution?
Often, I leave 'em flossin and cause exes next to coffins
Lost in translation, the dreams you chase
Got you divin for the plates like you stealin home base
That's great! I'm home alone, dreamin of two on ones
with Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on
And Travis is in the closet organizin and hangin the tramp
Three lettermans that Ace has been making him
No strays while we catchin matinees, huh?
I'm gettin blazed thinkin 'bout those days
I had the top off the GT3 like toupees
One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays
My, grand scheme of things is to be attached
to the game like bitches to their wedding rings
And you don't even need to look, cause we gleam obscene
In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shinin
like the Batman logo over Gotham
Rock L.A. to Harlem
If you say "Get 'em Mike G" then I got 'em
One man squadron, nigga I'm a problem
From Briggs, I got bars and plans to
pimp these Polish bitches into pop stars
Humanity kills, we all suffer from insanity still
And if I said it, then it is, or it's gonna be real
O.F. 'til I OD and I probably will, uh

[Domo Genesis]
It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lot-of-Pot, get your baby mommy popped
with my other snobby bop, do I love her? Probably not
Know your shit is not as hot as anythin I'll fuckin drop
Bitch I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay Caul'
I've been runnin blocks since a snotty tot
Big Wheel was a big deal with the water Glocks
Now I'm all grown, same song, just a different waltz
Fire what I talk, but still cooler than an Otter Pop
Op, Dom next shit in your wish list
Mad sick shit, mad dick for your bitches
On some slick shit, your mistress on my hitlist
And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff outta this bitch
Odd in your muh'fuckin area
Blood claats give me five feet 'fore I bury ya
Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya
Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carrey up
And fuck your team, hoe nigga whassup?
Wolf Gang so you know we not givin no fucks
You know me dawg, I'ma chill in the cut
so I can cut it short, break it down, couple pounds and roll it up

(Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga)

[Frank Ocean]
Rent a super car for a day
Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze
Bro easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day
But just enough for a week, my nigga what can I say?
I'm hi and I'm bye, wait I mean I'm straight
I'ma give you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes
My brother give it some +Time+ Morris and Day
Course you know the vibe's as fly as the rhymes
On the song, cut and you could sample the feel
Headphone bleed, make this shit sound real
Used to work the grill, Fatburger and fries
Then I made a mill' and them psychics was liars
Now, how many fuckin crystal balls can I buy and own?
Humble old me had to flex for the folks
Down in Muscle Beach pumping iron and bone
Bumpin oldies off my cellular phone...
Yeah, bumpin oldies off my cellular phone...
Bumpin oldies off my cellular phone!

(God dammit, this rappin is stupid and it's hard)
(Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go)

[Jasper Dolphin]
Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapper
Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster
Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor
Pothead, half baked, lookin like Chappelle
Rollin up a blunt with that fire from hell
Still ignorant, still hit a bitch
Wolf Gang nigga, so I still don't give a shit
Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap
Bong rips as I feel on that little bitch cat
Hah, nigga came through with a 9 bar real quick
Just for the bitches, little bit of money in my pocket
Fuck it, Wolf Gang
(Yeah... fuck that!! Haha)

[Earl Sweatshirt]
Look, for contrast here's a pair of lips
Swallowin syrup and settin fire to sheriff's whips
(Whoops whoops) Fuckin All-American terrorist
Crushin rapper larynx to feed 'em a fuckin carrot stick
And me? I just spent a year Ferris'n
and lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is
Spit til' the lips meet the bottom of a barrel
So that sterile piss flow remind these niggaz where embarrassed is
Narrow, tight line, might impair him since
I made it back to Fahrenheit and grimey get dinero type
Feral, fuckin ill apparel, wearin pack of parasites
And threw his own youth off the roof after paradise
La-Di-Da-Di back in here to fuck the party up
Raidin fridges, tippin over vases with a tommy gun
Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks
And sixty day chips from fuckin awesome anonymous
Call him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxe
Off the wall loafers, Four Loko in a cobra clutch
Vocals bold and rough, evoke a hoe to pose as drum
and let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole is numb
The culprit of the potent punch
Scoldin hot as dunkin scrotum in a Folgers cup
or Nevada, drivin drunk inside a stolen truck, shittin like his colon bust
Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
Supernova, I'm rollin over the novices
and roamin through the forest and spittin cold as his porridge is
Stay gold 'til the case closed and the story end
Post-mortem porkin this rap shit and record it
to escort it to the morgue again, lord of lips, bored of this
Forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list
Stormin the gate, ensurin the fate
Scorchin, leave these motherfuckers sore in torso and face
Uhh~! Get at me, we savages, half a pack of Apache
Indian pack of niggaz who don't give a fuck if we nasty as flatulence
As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky
So see me you can't, like Crunchy Black catchin a taxi
Uh, back like lateral passing
with that motherfuckin gladiator manner of rapping
As an addict I let Percocet and Xannies relax me
Fall back if your paddies is maxi, please

[Tyler, the Creator]
OF, shit that's all I got
From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac'
From that father figure Clancy to that skatey nigga Naks
Shreddin down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the fuckin block
Storefront, knee tat
Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks
And grip tape... and my shoes, um
I was 15 when I first drew that donut
Five years later for our label, yeah we own it
I started an empire, I ain't even old enough
to drink a fucking beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop
This is for the niggers in the suburbs
And the white kids with nigger friends who say the n-word
And the ones who got called weird, fag, bitch, nerd
cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg
They say we ain't actin right
Always try to turn our fuckin color into black and white
But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em
Radical's my anthem, turn my fuckin amps up!!!
So instead of critiquin and bitchin, bein mad as fuck
Just admit not only are we talented, we're rad as fuck
Bitches... O.F.M., bangin on your FM
Gnaw 2011... yeah

{GOLF WANG!!}