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Song Lyrics
I'm tyler, mr. green hat, pro-abortion anti-clean rap
Fuck your blog opinion and your feedback
My self-respect I leave that, in the lost and found
Where the black girls get their weaves back
Awesome I achieve that minnie, blastin' 'you're a jerk'
In some fuckin' yellow skinnies lookin' like a fuckin' faggot
Bouncin' round the house tryna find an easy way to rape minnie
Bet you thirty dollars you find her like cartman found kenny dead
I like my girls smart, skinny
Kinda poptart, when I bite into 'em red
I'm a self-racist, you should tape this, ask sarah, I'm the rapist
I'm a fascist, fuck fashion, gucci belts is for them faggots
My hat is by gb, if you got a fuckin' problem
With the future, you can get a death wish just like a tiba
Fuck the biz apparent, odd future errant
I'm watchin' the berrics gettin' head from someone's parent
Blind fuckin' hate inside my heart, guaranteed
That I'm sharin' in the force with the cyclops starin'
I'm flyin' on the beaver, you're a disbeliever
So don't ask for no muthafuckin' ride when you see us
Swim right past you, the shitlist said that I'm nutty such cashew
Cause I jack off with dish soap and smell gas fumes
Permanent brain damage similar to tattoos
The shit you can mention me if anybody ask you
Care to juggle with the cash news?
You didn't see me here if someone ask you
I wanna feel her in every way
Mary jane keeps me high like every day
Bong, vaporizer in the sack now
Stuck in my high, afraid of heights, I'm trapped
Buy a swisher for a dollar or two blunt wraps
Roll it up and ensure that everything's fat
She ain't got time to try to relieve ya
But she'll get all in your head, sativa
We grind, these niggas asking for some promo
We sit back, observe, stacking hella box logos
Square circle jerks starting o.f. moshpit
Preaching to the poets, I'm an o.f. prophet
No less profit, themed when we drop shit
Convertible coupe, bitches scream when they tops split
It's that crack, give you something to sell
Put these bitches on lock down, something like jail
Thought she hot I swear, probably rougher than hell
Ain't she ain't gay, but the only thing she like is fucking chanel
Light skinned women, all sex everything
Think we can fit ten in, bowls packed with everything
Everything that we call flight, living life
This is everything that we call hype
I'm everything that they call nice
She in colors and shit, she off that northern lights, right
Intimidated by niggas you can't be
I'm a g, and this is something you can't see
Top ranked, number one my son
And she looking for them trees, baby we got some
And stay focused on the women and you get less done
It's ironic cause I always hear you talking about one
Them other niggas smoke, they ain't this high
How high? nigga, higher than the kites they fly
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| Tyler, The Creator Song Lyrics - Session |
