text: For your boy
  Im watching Freaks and Geeks with the trampoline on the floor
  Im tryna cop the new McLaren with the vertical doors
  Nigga
  Money, money, money, money, money aint the motive
  Whats your name again? Nobody knows it
  Dont speak to me, nigga, you not important
  Im focused 
  Bring in the horns
  They say Im nutty, Im picnic basket
  Im short of a sandwich, Im peanut butter
  Boyce Watkins a faggot, please come and get me 
  Said I suckin at your neck, like a hickey, boy, Im sicky 
  Like a HIV victim, aint nobody fuckin with me
  I got banned from New Zealand, why they called me a demon 
  And a terrorist? Goddamn it, I couldnt believe it
  Ban a kid from a country, I never fall, never timber 
  But you fucked up as a parent, your child idols a nig​ger
  I clearly dont give a fuck, so you could run that shit back
  And fuck your loud pack, and fuck your Snapchat 
  Cherry Bomb the greatest fuckin album since the days of sound 
  And that shit gon pop just like that nigga that was never round
  Damn, bout to drop, gas em up, thick exhaust 
  Young T, came quick, hard to beat, dick is soft
  We aint lyin, we the truth, call him Simba, beats his hooves 
  Tyler, The Creator sweatin Jesus juice
  Put that fuckin cow on my level, cause Im raising the stakes 
  Mom, I made you a promise, its no more section 8
  And when we ate, it was the steaks, now our section is great 
  Cause thats the level Im at, my nigga, pass em a plate
  Ye!
  Why, oh why, why, why dont they like me? 
  Cause Nike gave a lot of niggas checks 
  But Im the only nigga to ever check Nike
  Richer than white people with black kids
  Scarier than black people with ideas 
  Nobody can tell me where Im headin 
  But I feel like Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen at my weddin 
  They say Im crazy, but thats the best thing goin for me
  You cant lynch Marshawn if Tom Brady throwin to me 
  I made a million mistakes, but Im successful in spite of em 
  I believe you like a fat trainer taking a bite of somethin
  I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds
  I dreamt of 2Pac, he asked me Are you still down? Yeah, my nigga 
  Its on, its on, its on, its on 
  I know they told they white daughters, Dont bring home Jerome
  I am the free nigga archetype 
  I am the light and the beacon; you can ask the deacon 
  Its funny, when you get extra money 
  Every joke you tell just be extra funny 
  I mean, you can even dress extra bummy
  Cocaine, bathroom break, nose extra runny 
  And I gave you all I got, you still want extra from me 
  Oxford want a full-blown lecture from me
  And the Lexus pull up, errr, like hop, I hopped out, like wassup?
  Err-err-err, step back, hold up, my nigga, you suck
  Hold up 
  I studied the proportions
  Emotions runnin at a Autobahn speed-level 
  Had a drink with fear, and I was textin God 
  He said, I gave you a big dick, so go extra hard, uh 
  For your boy
  Im tryna cop the new McLaren with the vertical doors
  Im watchin Freak and Geeks, got a trampoline in my room
  Damn 
  Hold your fuckin horses
  Niggas really fuckin thought that T lost it
  Like I bet it at a auction
  Been exhausted, I been workin
  While yall silly bros smoke like broken exhaust tips
  Fuckin losers
  Hold your fuckin ponies, my homie
  Ill whip your donkey by my lonely, I eat pussy like Shoneys, yeah
  Its Tunechi, homie, Master of Ceremonies
  I knock em down, Domino effect, no pepperoni, I swear
  Its them Golf boys, like them Hot Boys 
  For the nine-nine and two-thousand
  But its the two-thou and 
  The one-four and the one-five, yo, what up, Wayne?
  What up, Slime? Nigga, go hard
  Yeah, Ima go hard like before came
  Got too much drive, need like ten lanes
  Life is a broad, and she give brain
  Thats that road head , thats a dream car
  Got a full tank of that same year I was born
  Thats that one-nine-nine-one
  Nother nigga like I, you wont find one
  Cause, nigga, Im a god, a divine one; Tune! 
  My trigger finger wise, but my 9 dumb 
  Middle finger blind, so its fuck A-N-Y-one 
  Fuck, skate, and die son, a hundred ways to die, son
  Im starin at a tramp on lean, make my eye jump
  Use Adderall like alarm clocks, wake my high up
  Stakes are high, well done, and prime cut; eat up
  I stick my Rollie in her mouth, let the time come
  She got hair like Sheneneh, and eyes like Wanda
  Oh my goodness
  Wayne, them bitches ugly
  These niggas colder than Tommy buddy
  Ye, we hittin models like Tony Parker be hittin bottles
  Bitch, Im goin harder than yellow cabbies stoppin for Lionel 
  They be duckin us niggas, shout out to Donald Sterling 
  Boy, lets get a scrimmage
  And cut some niggas, Ill bring the Clippers
  And a couple owners thats kinda German
  You bring the nooses
  And a couple trees, where the money grow
  And get bodies burnin
  Cause Im tryna hang like Im Mr. Cooper or Jews in Berlin
  Or some niggas from Alabama, Birmingham
  My new musics all over the street like Erick Sermon was
  Fuck us, maybe we should team up
  Anti-Golf boys cause I dont fuck with me either
  Im a liar, Im a faggot, ugh! Son, you need Jesus
  But I heard he left Sunset to go on tour with Yeezus 
  Well, Im prayin for the new Yeezys
  And you pussies prayin that we squash the beef like zucchini
  I know, it aint gain, nor fame, nor tame
  Or lame, nor strange, nah, faggot, its Golf Wang