[Intro]
Yeah, yeah
Uh, they, fuck
Uh, yeah

[Verse]
They ask me if I'm Tyler, the nasty
N***a that used to be in seventh grade, watching Degrassi'
But y'all n***as and your whips with your rims
And your hat with the brims, rolling right past me
But I could give a fuck less about what you doing
Who you screwing, who you booing
I got these bitches brewing in my gold pots
You could see the Rolex, the gold watch
See them gold (?), bitch, you won't stop
I'm in that Bape shit, all that Bathing Ape shit
That shit that make you my Superman hoodie is cape shit
You on that fake shit, that True Religion, Abercrombie
'postale, n***a, my T-shirt is pastel
My n***a, I pass well
Well past, and I pass that fucking class well
And when your bitch see me, she be like
"Oh my gosh, you're (?), but man, you're so swell"
Like I'm so swole, this Bape shit is so old
Older than the ice cream shoes I have that's growing mold
And they say "Ace, you're a genius"
I said "I play piano, make songs, a big penis"
Cause when I have 2, listening to Neptunes shit
I'm never Mars or Venus, you seen this
My 3-D glasses still the cleanest
Enis, anus, n***a, you could paint this
Here's a mothafuckin' brush, all you n***as running
But I'm still not in a rush and I'm winning
No braces on but I'm grinning, don't believe in God but I'm sinning
(?), He-Man and She-Man and He-Man
And he's dead, y'all want the rims
But I'm still chilling in the mothafuckin' mini-van like
What it do, what it do
Fuck you and your crew, OF to the death, nah
Y'all know I do bail
Y'all rep y'all set until the death, my n***a, this OF until, until
And n***a thats real
And n***a I'm raw, I'm bigger than my boss
Leaving cold, 86 degrees heat on me
With your bitch screaming out my name, gagging on her knees
And n***a, I'm reed, eating motherfuckin' ice cream Reese's Pieces
N***a, I'm the (?), I'm the shit
You could call me Ace, The Creator, a.k.a. feces
I'm eating like a feces
[Outro]
Hahahaha...
What the fuck is my problem!? Fuck!
Ayo, ay, I'mma let this one ride out though
I'mma-I'mma let the keys fuck with the drums
A.C.E., O-F-M, bangin' on your FM, yes
It was all a dream, now I got my own magazine, word up
I'm out, peace
Tch
Bitch!