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letra de tamale - tyler the creator

tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale!!!

they say i’ve calmed down since the last alb-m
well, lick my d-ck, how does that sound? (umm)
smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
and i don’t give a sh-t, bend my r-ct-m
somebody said bands make her dance
you think you’re getting cash, no b-tch, you’re dumb
the only thing that you’re gonna get is this d-ck
wait turn this up, b-tch, this my jam, (where the drums at?)
here, take a godd-mn picture
and tell spike lee he’s a godd-mn n-gg-r
and while you’re at it, p-ss the lotion
and fapping and xbox live, that fun
before i come, i’m calling your sister
when she comes over, i take picture
instantly put it on instagram and suplex her off a building if i get banned

tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale!
why y’all so salty, hot tamale is on
a can of beans b-tch i’m on, your boy is bad to the bone

bring back the h-rns that was played in the beginning
and tell tony parker that i found his vision
and if he’s tripping off my sneak dissing
then he has to deal with me and my minions
tryna get a bimmer, e46
have you heard 48, motherf-cka i’m great
golf wang prints always cover the sleeves
from cuts from the biebs, cause he’s puffin’ the trees, please
f-ck i look like? got a new bike tire
never popped like the p-ssy on a b-tch dyk-
think i give a f-ck, i do, i go b-lls
and i bust in her jaw like (f-ck that disease!)
my urethra, hole that i pee from
bigger than an obese snack on aretha
now, turn that snare down
i’m back like i’m rosa parks fare on the same d-mn bus
like “you’re going to jail now!”

tamale! tamale! tamale! tamale!
why y’all so salty, hot tamale is on
a can of beans b-tch i’m on, your boy is bad to the bone

how much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
if a woodchuck could ever give a f-ck?
b-tch suck d-ck, motherf-ck 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 f-ck michael b-tch i’m badder than my bo
find me and lance tryna dance during chemo
before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos

yeah buddy, (?), na na na na na na na!
golf wang, golf wang, go f-ck you, na na na na na na!
why y’all so salty, hot tamale is on
can’t agree? b-tch im on,
your boy is bad to the bone

how many f-gs can a lightbulb screw?
well if i has a d-ck, they be two’s and sixes
and tell the nra i’m about to lose my sh-t
shoot through wayne lapierre’s hair with a crucifix
how many ladies in the house?
how many ladies in the house without a rich n-gg-, huh?
a little jergens in my palm for the jerkin’
hope my mom don’t catch me, tryna set mood
little redtube, f-ck lotion, i don’t need lube, dryfit suits me
up and down, friction with the sound, sh-t’s kind of disgusting
fap time and before i flatline, clancy chimes in my room and catch me
this sh-t’s so d-mn embarr-ssing like

wolf: oh sh-t, aw f-ck.
clancy: what the f-ck!
wolf: aw, i’m sorry.
clancy: is that my shirt?
wolf: yeah sorry i needed something
clancy: clean that sh-t up, we’re going to the office!

- tyler the creator

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