Cult Shit

I'm recording that shit on the fucking little mic
By the little camera thing on the fucking Mac book
So this shit is choppy and bad quality, but fuck it
Wolf Gang, Ace Creator

Somebody tell Justin Bieber that I'm fucking coming
Ain't no point in running, I'm a nigga, just a little quicker
So I catch him stretching, have him guessing 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 snorting coke
Riley's here, Connie's dead, picking pussy pisses pike
She won't leave, dick as big as Kelly Price's appetite
Apprehend a couple men, triple six is fucking 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 nigga kids wearing cap and gowns
This my album, and when your parents try to come around
Do the fucking exact opposite of turning it down
And when they try to get parental and start talking loud
Tell them that you're from the Wolf Gang and you're fucking proud
Then start barking 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 fucking shower
But make it in time for shitty re-runs of Rocket Power
This is the shit that is making me cynical
The clinical attempts at schizophrenia's critical
Fucking voices follow me, emulating 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 fucking toll
1-800-fuck-this-shit
Seven years old in my heart, so I'm staying gold
But when I fucking 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 during 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