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letra de fucking lame - tyler, the creator

[verse 1]
i’m rolling through ladera in a bimmer looking cleaner
drinking on the blueberry slurpee, eating that fajita
my p-ssenger seat is occupied by senorita
and mother keeps on bugging me about wanting to meet her
i don’t really need her, i’m just tryna treat her real nice
so later on, up in the night, i could go beat her
and make a lie about the gonorrhea
so she don’t feel guilty about me wanting to leave her
that “f-ck” on my t-shirt print is cheetah
and i got that ’87 bunny flow, like an easter
basket, you f-ggots, is plastic, like nerds with old gl-sses
but i’m still liable to get my -ss kicked
conned-sort actor, a baby milo addict in the attic
where you losers can’t get me
nikon and the canon, they were never the same
and please do not take a picture, i can’t be seen with you lames

[hook]
man, y’all some m-th-f-ckin’ lames
man, y’all some m-th-f-ckin’ lames
don’t lie to yourself, y’all some lames
man, y’all some lames
the canon don’t flash, y’all some lames
i cannot be seen with you lames
you mothaf-ckas is some lames

[verse 2]
can’t stop for, flashing, like a cop car
me and.. rock well, i’m a rock star
f-ck y’all the o.f. is banging on ’em
custom crew-necks rollin’ while we’re ronald regan on ’em
y’all drug dealers, i carl sagan on ’em
chop and screw nas tracks, i got piano’s waiting on ’em
my shirt is yellow, but the grill is gold
i couldn’t take the ritalin cause my therapist said the pill is old
i can’t skate, but i guess that’s lost control
i don’t have sense, sorry i sold my soul
for some gold bapes low-price, stale rate
authentic, never fake, check the poll, our statistic
stay with authentics, check my steelo
cause my mob’s goodie like we ceelo
and he know, i am yes and even she know
every instrument is a gram, kilo

[outro]
ofm, bangin’ on your fm

- tyler the creator

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