Domo23 - Tyler, the Creator

[Verse 1]
Sick to my motherf_cking tummy
B_tch must think I'm a motherf_cking dummy
Because I dress bummy, b_tch think I'm broke
B_tch, I ate one roach and I made a lot of money
Popping since Bastard, Clancy is my slave master
Thanks to them crackers, my pockets are fatter than excess sh_t that's weighting on Jasper
I've never popped a bottle, but I've f_cked a couple models in Europe
Yup, and a couple of them swallowed
Meet me half way, b_tch I'm going all in
And I never pull back, shout-out to my n_gga Taco

[Hook (x3)]
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, (Golf Wang!)

[Verse 2]
So, a couple fags threw a little hissfit
Came to Pitchfork with a couple Jada Pinkett signs
And said I was a racist homophobic
So I grabbed Lucas and filmed us kissing
Feelings getting caught, it's off, I'm pissing
You think I give a f_ck? I ain't even stick my d_ck in yet
(No homo; too soon.)
And while y'all are rolling doobies
I be in my bedroom scoring movies
Still, I'm sounding like a f_cking newbie
S_ck my d_ck, motherf_cker, sue me
Mom got a new whip so she could scoop me
A year ago, I ain't have no hoopty
Four story home, gotta climb eight sets of stairs
Just to see where my f_cking roof be

[Hook (x2)]
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, (Golf Wang!)

[Verse 3]
Wait a God damn second
I'm tripping balls, David Beckham
Will fall cause sh_t's going down
Just like Rodney King's swimming lessons
Now me and Justin smoke sherm and been talking 'bout freeing perm
And purchasing weapons naming them and aim them in One Direction
(Wait a minute)
It sounds like midgets in a God damn speaker
Every time you play this sh_t loud
But that's just me trying to get milk now
Instead of grunts from a God damn cow
Hit me on my beeper while Captain Hook s_cks my Peter
Pan camera, repeat procedure
And when the beat drops, have a God damn seizure

[Hook (x4)]
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, Golf Wang
F_ck that, (Golf Wang!)

[Outro]
You remind me of my bimmer
A lot of trunk space, the perfect two seater
And you got a lot of drive I'm trying to keep her
But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter

You remind me of my bimmer
See your ignition, baby girl I'm trying to key up
And your headlights are off I'm trying to see 'em
But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter
So let me start it up, and smash it

Pop some Tame Impala, your man got a lame impala
(And it's dark outside)
And I'm sharing slurpies and you ain't even begin to swallow
(Oooooo)
You're f_cking nuts, brim top we coupled up
Run my fingers through 'em as you wax and buff my muffler
Cause I fingered you, you think a f_cking ring is coming up?
(Oooooo)
Maybe I don't know I think you're chilled
(Ride for)
Riding on my pegs, my back against ya legs
And a seatbelt is needed if I get between 'em, yea

You remind me of my-
Cut it out!

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