I'm recordin' that shit on the fuckin' little micBy the little camera thing on the fuckin' Mac bookSo this shit is choppy and bad quality, but fuck itWolf Gang, Ace CreatorSomebody tell Justin Bieber that I'm fuckin' comingAin't no point in runnin', I'm a nigger, just a little quickerSo I catch him stretchin'have him guessin' where his cracker throatChop his balls off and use his skin to make a baby coatAin't he dope? No, he the same as shit that Tyler wroteThis is Ace, Wolf is in the back with Travis snortin' cokeRiley's here, Connie's dead, pickin' pussy pisses pikeShe won't leave, dick as big as Kelly Price's appetiteApprehend a couple men, triple six is fuckin' sinMake Queen Latifah and Sydney go slap a couple dykesWrap around 'til they hit the ground and they hear a soundThat doesn't make sense like nigger kidswearing cap and gownsThis my album, and when your parents try to come aroundDo the fuckin' exact opposite of turnin' it downAnd when they try to get parental and start talkin' loudTell them that you're from the Wolf Gangand you're fuckin' proudThen start barkin' loud'til the neighbors wanna calm you downBut call the pigs, who'll probably come in bout a half an hourTell them that your sorry, you're a cow, took a fuckin' showerBut make it in time for shitty re-runs of Rocket PowerThis is the shit that is makin' me cynicalThe clinical attempts at schizophrenia's criticalFuckin' voices follow me, emulatin' like twitter rollO. F. is a cult, assume that I'm the fucking generalSo when I mention suicide, I'm being Mr. LiteralThe coke inside nine capsules, fuck it let's split a rollLife is like a phone booth, these pigeons is the fuckin' toll1-800-fuck-this-shitSeven years old in my heart, so I'm stayin' goldBut when I fuckin' go, Lucifer will probably have my soulIt's hot down there, fuck that, bitch I'm hot as coalsOut the microwave, mixed with a bowl of yellow raviolAnd a firetruck and Arizona durin' summertimeIn a turtle neck, thermal jeans, spit purple wineWolf Gang pete and gon' live, running outta timeThe fuck I give is the same as the next line(Fuck everything) That's what my conscience saidThen it bunny hopped off my shouldernow my conscience deadSo the only guidance that I had is splattered on cementActions speak louder than words, let me try this shit
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I'm recordin' that shit on the fuckin' little mic
By the little camera thing on the fuckin' Mac book
So this shit is choppy and bad quality, but fuck it
Wolf Gang, Ace Creator
Somebody tell Justin Bieber that I'm fuckin' coming
Ain't no point in runnin', I'm a nigger, just a little quicker
So I catch him stretchin'
have him guessin' where his cracker throat
Chop his balls off and use his skin to make a baby coat
Ain't he dope? No, he the same as shit that Tyler wrote
This is Ace, Wolf is in the back with Travis snortin' coke
Riley's here, Connie's dead, pickin' pussy pisses pike
She won't leave, dick as big as Kelly Price's appetite
Apprehend a couple men, triple six is fuckin' sin
Make Queen Latifah and Sydney go slap a couple dykes
Wrap around 'til they hit the ground and they hear a sound
That doesn't make sense like nigger kids
wearing cap and gowns
This my album, and when your parents try to come around
Do the fuckin' exact opposite of turnin' it down
And when they try to get parental and start talkin' loud
Tell them that you're from the Wolf Gang
and you're fuckin' proud
Then start barkin' loud
'til the neighbors wanna calm you down
But call the pigs, who'll probably come in bout a half an hour
Tell them that your sorry, you're a cow, took a fuckin' shower
But make it in time for shitty re-runs of Rocket Power
This is the shit that is makin' me cynical
The clinical attempts at schizophrenia's critical
Fuckin' voices follow me, emulatin' like twitter roll
O. F. is a cult, assume that I'm the fucking general
So when I mention suicide, I'm being Mr. Literal
The coke inside nine capsules, fuck it let's split a roll
Life is like a phone booth, these pigeons is the fuckin' toll
1-800-fuck-this-shit
Seven years old in my heart, so I'm stayin' gold
But when I fuckin' go, Lucifer will probably have my soul
It's hot down there, fuck that, bitch I'm hot as coals
Out the microwave, mixed with a bowl of yellow raviol
And a firetruck and Arizona durin' summertime
In a turtle neck, thermal jeans, spit purple wine
Wolf Gang pete and gon' live, running outta time
The fuck I give is the same as the next line
(Fuck everything) That's what my conscience said
Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder
now my conscience dead
So the only guidance that I had is splattered on cement
Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit
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