Lyrics Whoa - Earl Sweatshirt
Nahh
no,
nahh
nahh
fuck
that
Niggas
think
cause
you
fuckin'
made
Chum
and
got
all
personal
That
niggas
won't
go
back
to
that
old
fuckin'
2010
shit
About
talkin'
'bout
fuckin'
everything
all
No
fuck
that
nigga
I
got
you
Fuck
that
Grab
mittens
who
have
to
spit
blizzardous
Actually
flick
cigarette
ash
at
bitch
niggas
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
Raquets
you
play
tennis
with,
hated
for
bank
lifting
and
Spraying
then
hide
away
in
the
shade
of
his
maimed
innocence
Suitcase
scented
with
haze
and
fileted
sentences
Advanced
apathy,
smashing
the
man
cameras
up
Tan
khakis,
an
antagonist
Dan-dappered
up
Vagabond,
had
it
since
a
Padawan
Rapping
hot
as
fucking
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,
niggas
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,
Nigga
its
the
motherfuckin'
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
Yeah,
the
Misadventures
of
a
shit-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
fixed
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
nigga
try
to
disrespect
Get
a
fucking
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,
nigga,
cause
it's
the
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G
![Earl Sweatshirt - Whoa](https://pic.Lyrhub.com/img/l/1/b/6/ngta7c6b1l.jpg)
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