seven - tyler, the creator

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i’d tell him to eat a d-ck quicker than mexicans sprint over borders
i give a f-ck like a quarter with 20 cent
at hamptons with fred hampton relaxin’ at happy camper
it’s the f-ckin’ financial aid at hamptons wasn’t relaxin’, i’m taxin’
“f-ck ’em all!” i’m chantin’, don’t complain i’m just rantin’
f-ck ranking, i’m the best, i’m the champion’s chariot
i’m a liar like carrey in “liar, liar”
i’m dirtier than the sheets in the marriott, cable guy like larry
peter pan in my youth, f-cking fairies
i’m using my tooth bait to get that b-tches teeth paste
f-ck it, odd future some n-z-s, black n-z-s don’t copy
we perfect, you sloppy, huddled and slightly tacky
f-ck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet
screw you like a black teen on judge hatchett
endotherms and jaguars, drug dealers and crackers
able students and slackers
i’m backwards like jermaine dupri in ’93
escaping from concentration camps with a f-cking girl born in a ramp
that i ordered from ccs with some diamonds that’s vvs
like i went to sierra leone in a homecoming dress
with some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny
sup on my hat like that motherf-cker frannie
white, red-headed b-tch reminded me of annie
she dyno like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me
f-ck you bunches here, never disrespect my family
that’s for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie
wasted f-ckin’ youth? all you old n-gg-s antiques
we go skate, rape sl-ts and eat donuts from randy
b-tches like tia landry watching billy and mandy
motherf-ckers wanna be odd but you can’t be
sit the f-ck down all you old n-gg-s stand me, f-ggot

i guess i gotta be a f-ckin’ hand-me-down rapper
from los angee area anytime i’m f-ckin’ landing
f-ck 2dopeboyz and nahright, shout out to hype track
them motherf-ckers could never get rid of me
guess i gotta do a f-cking song with dom kennedy
get these f-ckin’ hip hop bloggers to start feelin’ me
because i’m seventeen, compose my own beats
lyrically i’m dope enough to -ss-f-ck the dude who made nicotine
maybe i should buy some hundreds, wear some f-ckin’ skinny jeans
and follow in your footsteps like a motherf-ckin’ millipede
centipede, make songs about gucci and cigaweed
jerk with my friends like it’s some motherf-ckin’ little league
no i ain’t no f-cking hipster, mister
no i’m not no f-cking kid cudi, all my f-cking fans love me
collaboration hits for fans screaming f-ck buddies, yo, yo

i’m drivin’ in a stolen truck, and i’m probably f-ckin’ drunk
wasted as f-ck, can’t walk it out, dj unk
my nose is filled with c-ke and my license is revoked
(shut the f-ck up!) who the f-ck told me not to spoke?
f-ck everybody here, everybody vanish, i’ll manage
hop off my d-ck and make a f-cking sandwitch
everybody listening can suck my d-ck in spanish
f-ck you, f-ggot (f-ckin’ b-st-rd)

yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record
i was, i was probably angry, probably on my period
but um, i didn’t mean to offend anyone, alright, i’m lying, of

- versuri tyler the creator

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