text: 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 Domyen, shouts out to Frankie Ocean
  Shouts out to Syd the Dude
  Shouts out to L-Boy, awwwwk
  I told you
  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, Catch up, nigga, it looks like an accident
  Um, flowing like my pad is the maxiest
  My bitch white and black like shes been mimicking a panda
  Its 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 fucking Logic-contradicting dickhead 
  Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit
  Semen-scented cheetah printed tee
  In that Preme five-panel, Ill repeat it for the season
  Previous items in the present
  With the normal-ass past like I cheated on my team
  Its me 
  To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
  But knowin you own your opponent is a defeatin bonus
  Im Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless
  Smiles of cowards in lead showers, dead spouses in red blouses
  Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went joustin
  Im on my Robin Hood shit, robbing in the hood
  Whips, drugs, jewels and your pet, Im stealin your rims
  Coke diamonds and your Vette, soldiers lace the fuckin boot
  And salute like the troop, when they shoot, you gon brrrooop
  Its KILLHodgy, nigga, stay the fuck off my stoop
  And out my Kool-Aid, Juice
  Whats up, 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 ho, you call a ho, and all the hoes tell
  You know Left Brain need a freak 
  I need a bitch to go down like a Nitty beat
  Yup, uh, and her ass fat
  Dont be surprised if I ask where the hash at
  Nigga, Im tryna smoke, bitch, get higher 
  Domo, where that Flocka Flame? Talking bout a lighter
  Still bang salute me or just shoot me
  Cause if you dont salute me then my team will do the shooting
  Yeah, my nigga Ace will pull the black jack
  The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac
  We like the mafia, bitch, dont get to slacking up
  And if these haters acting up, throw em in the aqueduct
  Free my nigga Earl, yo, I dont really ask for much
  But two bad bitches in front of me cunnilingus
  What the fuck is caution?
  Often I leave em flossing in KAWS, exes next to coffins
  Lost in translation, the dreams you chase
  Got you diving for the plates like you stealing home base
  Thats great, Im home alone dreaming of two on ones
  With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on
  And Travis is in the closet organizing and hanging the tramp
  Three lettermans that Ace has been making him
  No strays while we catching matinees, huh?
  Im getting blazed thinking bout those days
  I had the top off the GT3 like toupees
  One finger in the air, alls fair when crime pays
  My grand scheme of things is to be attached
  To the game like bitches to their wedding rings
  And you dont even need to look cause we gleam obscene
  In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shining
  Like the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem
  If you say, Get em, Mike G, then I got em
  One man squadron, nigga, Im 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 its gonna be real
  OF til I OD and I probably will, uh
  Its still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-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 anything I fuckin drop
  Bitch, Im in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay Culk
  Ive been runnin blocks since a snotty tot
  Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glocks
  Now Im 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 hit list
  And Im lifted til Im stiff outta this bitch
  Odd in your motherfuckin area 
  Blood clots 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, ho, nigga, wassup? 
  Wolf Gang so you know we not givin no fucks
  You know me dog, Im a chill in the cut
  So I can cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up
  Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga
  Right, right
  Rent a supercar for a day
  Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze
  Bro, easy on the ounce, thats a lot for a day
  But just enough for a week, my nigga, what can I say?
  Im high and Im bi, wait, I mean Im straight
  Ima get you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes
  My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day
  Course you know the vibes just 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, fat burger and fries
  Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars
  Now, how many fucking crystal balls can I buy and own?
  Humble old me had to flex for the folks
  Down in Muscle Beach pumping iron and bone
  Bumping oldies off my cellular phone
  Yeah, bumping oldies off my cellular phone
  Bumping oldies off my cellular phone
  Goddammit!
  Rapping is stupid and its hard
  Gotta do it over and over and over again but here it go
  Hey, its Jasper, not even a rapper
  Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster
  Got a TV show, so I guess Im 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 dont give a shit 
  Catch me in the back with Mileys 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
  Look, for contrast, heres a pair of lips
  Swallowin sarapin, settin fire to sheriffs whips
   Fuckin All-American terrorist
  Crushin rapper larynx to feed em a fuckin carrot stick
  And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin
  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 niggas where embarrassed is
  Narrow, tight line, might impair him since
  I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type
  Feral, fuckin ill-apparel-wearin pack of parasites
  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 ho 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
  And shittin like his colon bust
  Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
  Supernova, Im 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 bass
  Scorchin, leave these motherfuckers sore in torso and face 
  Get at me, we savages, half a pack of Apache
  Indian pack of niggas who dont give a fuck if we nasty as flatulence
  As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky
  So see me, you cant, like Crunchy Black catchin a taxi
  Uh, back like lateral passin
  With that motherfuckin gladiator manner of rappin
  As an addict, I let Percocet and Xannies relax me
  Fall back if your paddies is Maxi, please
  OF, shit, thats all I got
  From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac
  From that father figure Clancy to that skatey nigga Nak
  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 fifteen when I first drew that donut
  Five years later, for our label, yeah, we own it
  I started an empire, I aint even old enough
  To drink a fucking beer, Im tipsy off this soda pop
  This is for the niggers in the suburbs
  And the white kids with nigga friends that 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 aint actin right
  Always try to turn our fuckin color into black and white
  But theyll never change em, never understand em
  Radicals my anthem, turn my fuckin amps up
  So instead of critiquing and bitchin, bein mad as fuck
  Just admit, not only are we talented, were rad as fuck, bitches
  OFM, banging on your FM
  Gnaw, 2011, yeah
  Golf Wang