Smuckers – Tyler The Creator

Lyrics Tyler The Creator – Smuckers

For your boy
I’m watchin’ Freaks and Geeks with the trampoline on the floor
I’m tryna pop the McLaren with the vertical doors n***a

Money, money, money, money, money ain’t the motive
What’s your name again? Nobody knows it
Don’t speak to me n***a, you not important
I’m focused
They say I’m nutty, a picnic basket
I’m short of a sandwich
A peanut butter, Boyce Watkin’s a faggot
Please come and get me
Said I suck him at your neck
Like a hickey, boy I’m sicky
Like a HIV victim, man nobody f*ckin’ with me
I got banned from New Zealand, whitey called me demon
And a terrorist, God dammit I couldn’t believe it
Ban a kid from the country, I never fall, never timber
But you f*cked up as a parent, your child idol’s a nigger
I clearly don’t give a f*ck, say you could run that s**t back
And f*ck your loud pack, and f*ck your Snapchat
Cherry Bomb, the greatest fuckin’ album since the days of sound
And that s**t gon’ pop just like that n***a that was never ’round
Damn, ’bout to drop, gas ’em up, thick exhaust
Young T, came quick, hard to beat, d*ck is soft
We ain’t lyin’, we the truth, call him Simba, beats his hooves
Tyler the Creator sweatin’ Jesus juice
Put that fuckin’ cow on my level, cause I’m raisin’ the stakes
Mom I made you a promise, it’s no more section eight
When we ate its the steaks, now our section is great
Cause that’s the level I’m at, my niggas pass em a plate

Why, why, why?
Why don’t they like me?
Cause Nike gave lot of niggas checks
But I’m the only n***a to ever check Nike

Richer than white people with black kids
Scarier than black people with ideas
Nobody can tell me where I’m headin’
But I feel like Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen at my wedding
They say I’m crazy but that’s the best thing going for me
You can’t lynch Marshawn, and Tom Brady throwin’ to me
I made a million mistakes, but I’m successful in spite of ’em
I believe you like a fat trainer takin’ a bite or somethin’
I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds
I dream’t of 2Pac, he asked me “are you still down?”
“Yeah my n***a”, it’s on, it’s on, it’s on, it’s on
I know they told their white daughters don’t bring home Jerome
I am the free n***a archetype
I am the light and the beacon, you can ask the deacon
It’s funny when you get extra money
Every joke you tell just be extra funny
I mean you can even dress extra bummy
Cocaine, bathroom break, nose extra runny
And I gave you all I got, you still want extra from me
Oxford want a full blown lecture from me
And the Lexus pull up, err like hop, I hopped out, like wassup
Err-err-err, step back, hold up, my leg’ll be stuck, hold up
I studied the proportions
Emotions runnin’ at an Autobahn speed level
Had a drink with fear, and I was textin’ God
He said “I gave you a big d*ck, so go extra hard”

For your boy
I’m tryna pop the McLaren with the vertical doors
I’m watchin’ Freaks and Geeks got a trampoline in my room

(Two, three, four)
Hold your fuckin’ horses
Niggas really fuckin’ thought that T lost it
Like I bet it at an auction been exhausted
I been workin’ while y’all cylinders smoke like broken exhaust tips
Fuckin’ losers

Hold your fuckin’ ponies my homie
I whip your donkey by my lonely I eat p*ssy like Shoney’s
That’s Tunechi, homie, master of ceremonies
I knock ’em down, domino effect, no pepperoni
I swear

This them golf boys, like them hot boys
For the nine, 9 and 2,000, but its the two-thou
When the one four and the one five, yo what up Wayne
(What up Slime, n***a go hard)
Yeah, I’mma go hard like before Cain
Got too much drive, need like ten lanes
Life is a broad and she give brain
That’s that road head, thats a dream car
Got a four ten, of that same year I was born
That’s that one nine nine one, ‘nother n***a like I
You won’t find one, cuz n***a I’m a god, a divine one, Tune

My trigger finger wise but my nine dumb
Middle finger blind so its f*ck A-N-Y one
F*ck, skate and die son, a hundred ways to die son
I’m starin’ at a tramp on lean, make my eye jump
Use Adderall like alarm clocks wake my high up
Steaks are high well done and prime cut, eat up
I stick my rollie in her mouth, let the time come
She got hair like Shanaynay, and eyes like Wanda
Oh my goodness

Wayne them bitches ugly, these niggas colder than Tommy buddy
‘Ye we hittin’ models like Tony Parker be hittin’ bottles
B***h I’m goin’ harder than yellow cabby stoppin’ for Lionel
(Black a*s n***a)
They be duckin’ us niggas, shout out to Donald Sterling
Boy lets get a scrimmage, I’ll cut some niggas, I’ll bring the Clippers
And a couple owners, that’s kinda German
You bring the nooses, and a couple trees
Where the money grow, and get bodies burning
Cause I’m tryna hang like I’m Mr. Cooper or Jews in Berlin
Or some niggas from Alabama, Birmingham
I need music all over the street like Erick Sermon
Was, f*ck us, maybe we should team up
Anti Golf boys cuz I don’t f*ck with me either
I’ma liar, I’ma faggot

Son you need Jesus
But I heard he left sunset, to go on tour with Yeezus, well
I’m prayin’ for the new Yeezys
And you pussies prayin’ that we squash the beef like zucchinis
I know, it ain’t gain, nor fame, nor tame
Or lame, nor strange

Nah faggot its Golf Wang.
Tyler The Creator

1 Response

  1. April 15, 2015

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