Tyler, The Creator - Tamale Lyrics
(feat. Tallulah)[Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator]They say I’ve calmed down since the last albumWell, lick my dick, how does that sound? (Umm)Smell my gooch, you could kiss my bunsAnd I don’t give a shit, bend my rectumSomebody said bands make her danceYou think you’re getting cash, no *****, you’re dumbThe only thing that you’re gonna get is this dickWait turn this up, *****, this my jam, (Where the drums at?)Here, take a goddamn pictureAnd tell Spike Lee he’s a goddamn niggaareAnd while you’re at it, pass the lotionIn fact, get an Xbox Live, that funBefore I come, I’m calling your sisterWhen she comes over, I take pictureInstantly put it on Instagram and suplex her off a building [?][Hook: Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator]Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!Why y’all so salty,Hot tamale is on,A can of beans, *****, 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 dissingThen he has to deal with me and my minionsTryna get a bimmer, E46Have you heard 48, mother*****a I’m greatGolf Wang prints always cover the sleevesFrom cuts from the beach, to these puff in the trees, please***** I look like? Got a new bike tireNever popped like the ***** on a ***** dykeThink I give a *****, I do, I go ballsAnd I bust in her jaw like (***** that disease!)My urethra, hole that I pee fromBigger than an obese snack on ArethaNow, turn that snare downI’m back like I’m Rosa Parks fare on the same damn busLike “You’re going to jail now! â€[Hook:][Verse 3: Tyler, the Creator]How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?If a woodchuck could ever give a *****?***** Suck dick, Mother***** you and your opinions, (Can you kick it?)Yes I can sir, here the lump isSicker than the last bar bold-erI’m a co ***** Michael ***** I’m badder than my B. O.Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemoBefore they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos[Hook 2: Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator]Yeah Buddy, this is my jam, Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!Golf Wang, Golf Wang, Go ***** You, Na Na Na Na Na Na!Why y’all so salty,Hot tamale is on,A can of beans, *****, I'm on,Your boy is bad to the bone[Verse 4: Tyler, the Creator]How many fags can a lightbulb screw?Well if I has a dick, maybe two and six, and tell the nra I'mAbout to lose my shit, shoot through Wayne Lapierre's hair with a crucifixHow many ladies in the house?How many ladies in the house without a rich nigga, huh?A little Jergins in my palm for the jerkin’Hope my Mom don’t catch me, tryna set moodLittle Redtube, ***** lotion, I don’t need lube, dryfit suits meUp and down, friction with the sound, shit’s kind of disgustingFap time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch meThis shit’s so damn embarrassing like…
