Tamale

Tamale Lyrics

[Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator]
They say I’ve calmed down since the last album
Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? (Umm)
Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
And I don’t give a sh*t, bend my rectum
Somebody said bands make her dance
You think you’re getting cash, no b**ch, you’re dumb
The only thing that you’re gonna get is this dick
Wait turn this up, b**ch, this my jam, (Where the drums at?)
Here, take a goddamn picture
And tell Spike Lee he’s a goddamn niggaare
And while you’re at it, pass the lotion
In fact, get an 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.
[Hook: Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator]
Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
Why y’all so salty,
Hot tamale is on,
A can of beans, b**ch, I'm on,
Your boy is bad to the bone
[Verse 2: Tyler, the Creator]
Bring back the horns 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**ka I’m great
Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
From cuts from the beach, to these puff in the trees, please
f**k I look like? Got a new bike tire
Never popped like the pussy on a b**ch dyke
Think I give a f**k, I do, I go balls
And I bust in her jaw like (f**k 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 damn bus
Like “You’re going to jail now! ”
[Hook:]
[Verse 3: Tyler, the Creator]
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
If a woodchuck could ever give a f**k?
b**ch Suck dick, Motherf**k you and your opinions, (Can you kick it?)
Yes I can sir, here the lump is
Sicker than the last bar bold-er
I’m a co f**k Michael b**ch I’m badder than my B. O.
Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo
Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos
[Hook 2: Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator]
Yeah Buddy, this is my jam, Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
Golf Wang, Golf Wang, Go f**k You, Na Na Na Na Na Na!
Why y’all so salty,
Hot tamale is on,
A can of beans, b**ch, I'm on,
Your boy is bad to the bone
[Verse 4: Tyler, the Creator]
How many fags can a lightbulb screw?
Well if I has a dick, maybe two and six, 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 nigga, huh?
A little Jergins in my palm for the jerkin’
Hope my Mom don’t catch me, tryna set mood
Little Redtube, f**k 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 damn embarrassing likeâ€?