Smuckers (feat. Kanye West & Lil Wayne)

Tyler, The Creator

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 nigga
Money, money, money, money, money ain't the motive
What's your name again? Nobody knows it
Don't speak to me nigga, 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 fuckin' 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 fucked up as a parent, your child idol’s a nigger

I clearly don't give a fuck, say you could run that shit back
And fuck your loud pack, and fuck your Snapchat
Cherry bomb, the greatest fuckin' album since the days of sound
And that shit gon' pop just like that nigga that was never 'round

Damn, 'bout to drop, gas 'em up, thick exhaust
Young t, came quick, hard to beat, dick 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 8
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 nigga 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 nigga, 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 nigga 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 dick, 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 pussy 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 99 and 2, 000, but its the two-thou
When the one four and the one five, yo what up wayne
(What up slime, nigga 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 nigga like I
You won't find one, cuz nigga I'm a God, a divine one, tune

My trigger finger wise but my nine dumb
Middle finger blind so its fuck a-n-y one
Fuck, 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
Bitch I'm goin' harder than yellow cabby stoppin' for lionel

(Black ass nigga)
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, fuck us, maybe we should team up
Anti golf boys cuz I don't fuck 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

Composição: Dwayne Carter / JR / Kanye West / Tyker OkonmaColaboração e revisão: Lucas Gabriel

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