This song seemingly tackles the methods of deception those who manipulate others use to get victims to follow their demands, as well as diverting attention away from important issues. They'll also use it as a means to convince people to hate or kill others by pretending acts of terrorism were committed by the enemy when the acts themselves were done by the masters of control to promote discrimination and hate. It also reinforces the idea that these manipulative forces operate in various locations, infiltrating everyday life without detection, and propagate any and everywhere.
In general, it highlights the danger of hidden agendas, manipulation, and distraction, serving as a critique of those who exploit chaos and confusion to control and gain power, depicting a cautionary tale against falling into their traps. It encourages us to question the narratives presented to us and remain vigilant against manipulation in various parts of society.
[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt]
So I'm guessin' there's questions that need addressin', huh?
Like how we fresh in our adolescence and wreckin' 'em
Hand'em tracks, he destined to make a mess of 'em
Snappin' necks and records in matter of seconds check 'em son
Lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun
Fuckin' chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done
No FX, in these doper than sess sessions son
Chillin' for a while on a pile of the rest of 'em
Let the crowd choose who can fuckin' last longer
It's the rap monger, rap monster Earl Sweat attack, conquer
Lose least, niggas lost like the last blanca chica
That we picked up at the last concert
Please, get out ya seat, get out ya seat, verses written with scalpels
He's the junior king standin' out shoutin' on the balcony
How come he's not in counselin'? Fucka's loud while he's sound asleep
Heard he was dope as Sour D, nigga was Courage cowardly?
Stay Gold, alchemy, nigga we rap's Alpha Team
Mr. Teen and Mr. T with a mouth full of powder
And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see
Now watch him count the bodies like bitches be countin' calories
[Verse 2: Tyler the Creator]
Fuck with the Wolves, we startin' to bark viciously
Catch us in a pile of bodies where dead bitches be
Box Logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand
That Bastard was buzzin' like Woody so we get it for free
Had to duct tape the mother goose the mask was off
I stumbled down a hill then I had Jill jack me off
Harder than my dick when Taylor Swift is in my basement
Cause I've been doin' this since Pooh fucked Christopher Robinson
Wolf Gang knitted on my cotton like some smelly
Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin
Do not give a fuck I've got the swagger of a virgin's dick
But if I did it would be bigger than Earl's upper lip
Sip sizzurp, Supreme on my shizzirt
I munch a bunch of tacos with Waverly's favorite wizard
The favorite nigger turned into Freddy Kruger
And this that raw shit, dead bodies chopped up in the sewer
From the palms of Jeffrey Dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks
Beat like the brown lip balm that was made for Rihanna
All you fuckin' bloggin' faggots yappin' up that extra shit
I'll shove Bastard down your throat, regurgitate my excrement
Them 2DopeBoyz is fairies they're Peter like boysenberries
Meka scary, turn his white ass to a Jim Carrey twin
A fuckin' sausage fest will them shaky niggas get married then
2DopeBoyz don't want beef, they're just overweight vegetarians
So I'm guessin' there's questions that need addressin', huh?
Like how we fresh in our adolescence and wreckin' 'em
Hand'em tracks, he destined to make a mess of 'em
Snappin' necks and records in matter of seconds check 'em son
Lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun
Fuckin' chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done
No FX, in these doper than sess sessions son
Chillin' for a while on a pile of the rest of 'em
Let the crowd choose who can fuckin' last longer
It's the rap monger, rap monster Earl Sweat attack, conquer
Lose least, niggas lost like the last blanca chica
That we picked up at the last concert
Please, get out ya seat, get out ya seat, verses written with scalpels
He's the junior king standin' out shoutin' on the balcony
How come he's not in counselin'? Fucka's loud while he's sound asleep
Heard he was dope as Sour D, nigga was Courage cowardly?
Stay Gold, alchemy, nigga we rap's Alpha Team
Mr. Teen and Mr. T with a mouth full of powder
And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see
Now watch him count the bodies like bitches be countin' calories
[Verse 2: Tyler the Creator]
Fuck with the Wolves, we startin' to bark viciously
Catch us in a pile of bodies where dead bitches be
Box Logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand
That Bastard was buzzin' like Woody so we get it for free
Had to duct tape the mother goose the mask was off
I stumbled down a hill then I had Jill jack me off
Harder than my dick when Taylor Swift is in my basement
Cause I've been doin' this since Pooh fucked Christopher Robinson
Wolf Gang knitted on my cotton like some smelly
Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin
Do not give a fuck I've got the swagger of a virgin's dick
But if I did it would be bigger than Earl's upper lip
Sip sizzurp, Supreme on my shizzirt
I munch a bunch of tacos with Waverly's favorite wizard
The favorite nigger turned into Freddy Kruger
And this that raw shit, dead bodies chopped up in the sewer
From the palms of Jeffrey Dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks
Beat like the brown lip balm that was made for Rihanna
All you fuckin' bloggin' faggots yappin' up that extra shit
I'll shove Bastard down your throat, regurgitate my excrement
Them 2DopeBoyz is fairies they're Peter like boysenberries
Meka scary, turn his white ass to a Jim Carrey twin
A fuckin' sausage fest will them shaky niggas get married then
2DopeBoyz don't want beef, they're just overweight vegetarians
Lyrics submitted by stagnate
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