Tamale
Tyler
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[Intro: Tallulah] Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale! [Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator] They say I've calmed down since the last album Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns And I don't give a shit, bend my rectum Somebody said bands make her dance She thinks you're getting cash, no, bitch, you're dumb The only thing that you're gonna get is this dick Wait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam (Where the drums at?) Here, take a goddamn picture And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn nigger And while you're at it, pass the lotion And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun Before I cum, I call your sister When she comes over, I take picture Instantly put it on Instagram And suplex her off a building if I get banned (I'm just fucking around) [Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator] Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans, bitch, I'm on Your boy is bad to the bone [Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator] Bring back the horns that was played in the beginning And tell Tony Parker that I found his vision And if he's tripping off my sneak dissing (Uh) Then he has to deal with me and my minions Tryna get a Bimmer, E46 Have you heard "48"? Motherfucker, I'm great (Yeah) Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves From cuts for the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please Fuck I look like? Got a new bike Tire never pop like the puss on a butch dyke Think I give a fuck, I do, I go raw Then I bust in her jaw like (Fuck that disease, bitch!) My urethra, hole that I pee from Bigger than the obese neck on Aretha Now turn that snare down, I'm back like I'm Rosa Parks fare On the same damn bus like, "You're going to jail now" [Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator] Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans, bitch, I'm on Your boy is bad to the bone [Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator] How much wood could a woodchuck chuck If a woodchuck could ever give a fuck? Bitch, suck dick Motherfuck' you and your opinions (Can you kick it?) Yes, I can sir, where the lump is Sicker than the last bar bold-er, I'm a CO Colorado, fuck Michael, bitch, I'm badder than my BO Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos [Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator] Yeah, buddy, this is my jam, na, na, na, na, na, na, na! Golf Wang, Golf Wang, no, fuck you, na, na, na, na, na, na! Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans, bitch, I'm on Your boy is bad to the bone [Verse 4: Tyler, The Creator] How many fags can a lightbulb screw? Well, if it has a dick, maybe two or six And tell the NRA I'm about to lose my shit And shoot through Wayne LaPierre's hair with a crucifix How many ladies in the house? How many ladies in the house without a rich nigga, huh? A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin' Hope my mom don't catch me Tryna set mood, little RedTube, fuck lotion I don't need lube, dry fist suits me (Yeah) Up and down, friction make a *fap fap* sound The shit's kind of disgusting, fap time And before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me This shit's so damn embarrassing, like— [Outro: Tyler, The Creator & Christian Clancy] Oh, shit, aw, fuck What the fuck? Aw, I'm sorry Is that my shirt? Yeah, I'm sorry, I just wanted some bangs Clean that shit up, we're going to the office! Fuck