Whoa

作词 : Thebe Kgositsile/Tyler Okonma

作曲 : Thebe Kgositsile/Tyler Okonma

Nahh no, nahh nahh **** that

****ers think cause you ****in' made Chum

and got all personal

That ****ers won't go back to that old ****in' 2010 shit

About talkin' 'bout ****in' everything all

No **** that shit I got you

**** that

Grab mittens who have to spit blizzardous

Actually flick cigarette ash at ****er ****ers

Harassment, eight nickels of hash, delay quick

and then dash

To Saint Nicholas pad to taste venison

Still in the business of smacking up little rappers with

Racquets you play tennis with, hated for bank lifting

and Spraying that hotter wind

in the shade of his maimed innocence

Suitcase scented with haze and fileted sentences

Advanced apathy, sma*******ng the man cameras up

Tan khakis and antagonists Dan-dappered up

Vagabond, had it since a Padawan

Rapping hot as **** in cattle brands

wearing flannel thongs

Grab a bong, momma and some food, beer, tag along

Get a nice spanking, new Sears catalog

Send them nettled critics to the bezzle stop,

dead and wrong

Get 'em higher than the pitch of metal tea kettle songs

Four deep in a Rover cannon

Riding dirty through a Saugus canyon,

****ers know that it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

50 K for the last check

But the Dollar Menu still be on deck,

**** it's the mother****ing

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Yeah, the Misadventures of a ****ing talker

Pissed as Rick Ross's fifth sip off his sixth lager

Known to sit and wash the sins off at the pitch alter

Hat never backwards like the print off legit manga

Get it? Like a blue pill, make ya stick longer

Or a swift fist off your chin from his wrist launcher

Chick, chronic thrift shopper, thick like the Knicks roster

Stormed off and came straight back like pigs' posture

Pen? Naw, probably written with some used syringes

From out the rubbish bin at your local loony clinic

Watching movies in a room full of goons he rented

On the hunt for clues, more food,

and some floozy women

Bruising gimmicks with the broom

he usually use for Quidditch

Gooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch, chewed

and booty scented

Too pretentious,

do pretend like he could lose to spitting

Steaming tubes of poop

and twisted doobies full of euphemisms

Stupid, thought it up, jot it quick

Thought out, toss it right back like a vodka fifth

Spot him on a rocket swapping dollars in for pocket lint

Then lob a wad of chicken at a copper on some Flocka shit

Posing ****ers try to disrespect

Get a ****ing thunder to his neck,

shout out to Nak, cause it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Looking bummy, posted on the block

looking like I ain't make

A quarter million off of socks, ****ers, cause it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G