Seven - Tyler, the Creator

I'd tell him to eat a d_ck quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders
I give a f_ck like a quarter with 20 cent
At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxin' at Happy Camper
It's the f_ckin' financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxin', I'm taxin'
"F_ck 'em all!" I'm chantin', don't complain I'm just rantin'
F_ck ranking, I'm the best, I'm the champion's chariot
I'm a liar like Carrey in "Liar, Liar"
I'm dirtier than the sheets in the Marriott, Cable guy like Larry
Peter Pan in my youth, f_cking fairies
I'm using my tooth bait to get that b_tches teeth paste
F_ck it, Odd Future some nazis, black nazis don't copy
We perfect, you sloppy, huddled and slightly tacky
F_ck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet
Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett
Endotherms and jaguars, drug dealers and crackers
Able students and slackers
I'm backwards like Jermaine Dupri in '93
Escaping from concentration camps with a f_cking girl born in a ramp
That I ordered from CCS with some diamonds that's VVS
Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress
With some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny
Sup on my hat like that motherf_cker Frannie
White, red-headed b_tch reminded me of Annie
She dyno like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me
F_ck you bunches here, never disrespect my family
That's for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie
Wasted f_ckin' youth? All you old n_ggas antiques
We go skate, rape sl_ts and eat donuts from Randy
B_tches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy
Motherf_ckers wanna be Odd but you can't be
Sit the f_ck down all you old n_ggas stand me, faggot

I guess I gotta be a f_ckin' hand-me-down rapper
From Los Angee area anytime I'm f_ckin' landing
F_ck 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track
Them motherf_ckers could never get rid of me
Guess I gotta do a f_cking song with Dom Kennedy
Get these f_ckin' hip hop bloggers to start feelin' me
Because I'm seventeen, compose my own beats
Lyrically I'm dope enough to ass-f_ck the dude who made nicotine
Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some f_ckin' skinny jeans
And follow in your footsteps like a motherf_ckin' millipede
Centipede, make songs about Gucci and cigaweed
Jerk with my friends like it's some motherf_ckin' little league
No I ain't no f_cking hipster, mister
No I'm not no f_cking Kid Cudi, all my f_cking fans love me
Collaboration hits for fans screaming f_ck buddies, yo, yo

I'm drivin' in a stolen truck, and I'm probably f_ckin' drunk
Wasted as f_ck, can't walk it out, DJ Unk
My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked
(Shut the f_ck up!) Who the f_ck told me not to spoke?
F_ck everybody here, everybody vanish, I'll manage
Hop off my d_ck and make a f_cking sandwitch
Everybody listening can s_ck my d_ck in Spanish
F_ck you, faggot (F_ckin' Bastard)

Yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record
I was, I was probably angry, probably on my period
But um, I didn't mean to offend anyone, alright, I'm lying, OF

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