Domo 23
Tyler, The Creator Song Lyrics

[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!