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tamale [v2] - tyler, the creator lyrics

[intro: tallulah]
tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!

[verse 1: tyler, the creator]
they say i’ve calmed down since the last album
well, l!ck my d*ck, how does that sound? um
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
she thinks 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 nigger
and while you’re at it, pass the lotion
and fapping and xbox live, that fun
before i cum, i call your sister
when she comes over, i take picture
instantly put it on instagram
and suplex her off a building if i get banned
(i’m just f*cking around)

[chorus]

[verse 2: tyler, the creator]
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 (uh)
then he has to deal with me and my minions
tryna get a bimmer, e46
have you heard “48”? motherf*cker, i’m great (yeah)
golf w*ng prints always cover the sleeves
from cuts for the biebs, ’cause he’s puffin’ the trees, please
f*ck i look like? got a new bike
tire never pop like the p*ss on a butch dyk*
think i give a f*ck, i do, i go raw
then i bust in her jaw like (f*ck that disease, b*tch!)
my urethra, hole that i pee from
bigger than the obese neck 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”
[chorus]

[verse 3: tyler, the creator]
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
colorado, 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

[chorus]

[verse 4: tyler, the creator]
how many f*gs can a lightbulb screw?
well, if it has a d*ck, maybe two or six
and tell the nra i’m ’bout to lose my sh*t
and 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*gga, 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, dry fist suits me (yeah)
up and down, friction make a *fap fap* sound
the 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 embarrassing, like—
[outro]

- tyler the creator lyrics

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