[Intro]
I'm recordin' that %#@! on the $#&@in' little mic
By the little camera thing on the $#&@in' Mac book

So this %#@! is choppy and bad quality, but $#&@ it
Wolf Gang, Ace Creator


[Verse 1]
Somebody tell Justin Beiber that I'm $#&@in' coming
Ain't no point in runnin', I'm a ^!$$%, just a little eager

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 %#@! that Tyler wrote

This is Ace, Wolf is in the back with Travis snortin' !@%!e
Riley's here, Connie's dead, pickin' #~!!@ pisses pike
She won't leave, dick as big as Kelly Price's appetite

Apprehend a couple men, triple six is $#&@in' sin
Make Queen Latifah and Sydney go slap a couple !@()s
Wrap around 'til they hit the ground and they hear a sound

That doesn't make sense like ^!$$% kids wearing cap and gowns
This my album, and when your parents try to come around
Do the $#&@in' 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 $#&@in' proud
Then start barkin' loud 'til the neighbors wanna calm you down

But call the pigs, will probably come in bout a half an hour
Tell them that your sorry, you're a cow, took a $#&@in' shower
But make it in time for %#@!ty re-runs of Rocket Power

This is the %#@! that is makin' me cynical
The clinical attempts at schizophrenia's critical
$#&@in' voices follow me, emulatin' like twitter roll

O.F. is the coldest thing, and I'm the $#&@in' general
So when I mention suicide, I'm being Mr. Literal
The Pope inside nine capsules, $#&@ it let's split a roll

Life is like a phone booth, these pigeons is the $#&@in' toll
1-800-$#&@-this-%#@!
Seven years old in my heart, so I'm stayin' gold

But when I $#&@in' go, Lucifer will probably have my soul
It's hot down there, $#&@ that, (*##$ 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 $#&@ I give is the same as the next line

[Outro]

($#&@ 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 %#@!