Domo23

[Verse 1] Sick to my motherfucking tummy Bitch must think I'm a motherfucking dummy Because I dress bummy, bitch think I'm broke Bitch, I ate one roach and I made a lot of money Popping since Bastard, Clancy is my slave master Thanks to them crackers, my pockets are fatter than excess shit that's weighting on Jasper I've never popped a bottle, but I've fucked a couple models in Europe Yup, and a couple of them swallowed Meet me half way, bitch I'm going all in And I never pull back, shout-out to my nigga Taco [Hook (x3)] Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, (Golf Wang!) [Verse 2] So, a couple fags threw a little hissfit Came to Pitchfork with a couple Jada Pinkett signs And said I was a racist homophobic So I grabbed Lucas and filmed us kissing Feelings getting caught, it's off, I'm pissing You think I give a fuck? I ain't even stick my dick in yet (No homo; too soon.) And while y'all are rolling doobies I be in my bedroom scoring movies Still, I'm sounding like a fucking newbie Suck my dick, motherfucker, sue me Mom got a new whip so she could scoop me A year ago, I ain't have no hoopty Four story home, gotta climb eight sets of stairs Just to see where my fucking roof be [Hook (x2)] Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, (Golf Wang!) [Verse 3] Wait a God damn second I'm tripping balls, David Beckham Will fall cause shit's going down Just like Rodney King's swimming lessons Now me and Justin smoke sherm and been talking 'bout freeing perm And purchasing weapons naming them and aim them in One Direction (Wait a minute) It sounds like midgets in a God damn speaker Every time you play this shit loud But that's just me trying to get milk now Instead of grunts from a God damn cow Hit me on my beeper while Captain Hook sucks my Peter Pan camera, repeat procedure And when the beat drops, have a God damn seizure [Hook (x4)] Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, Golf Wang Fuck that, (Golf Wang!) [Outro] You remind me of my bimmer A lot of trunk space, the perfect two seater And you got a lot of drive I'm trying to keep her But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter You remind me of my bimmer See your ignition, baby girl I'm trying to key up And your headlights are off I'm trying to see 'em But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter So let me start it up, and smash it Pop some Tame Impala, your man got a lame impala (And it's dark outside) And I'm sharing slurpies and you ain't even begin to swallow (Oooooo) You're fucking nuts, brim top we coupled up Run my fingers through 'em as you wax and buff my muffler Cause I fingered you, you think a fucking ring is coming up? (Oooooo) Maybe I don't know I think you're chilled (Ride for) Riding on my pegs, my back against ya legs And a seatbelt is needed if I get between 'em, yea You remind me of my- Cut it out!