TYLER THE CREATOR - Smuckers lyrics

rate me

Money, money, money, money, money are not the motive

What is your name again?

Nobody knows it

Do not speak to me ,nigga

You are not important

I am focused

They say I am nutty, a picnic basket

I am sort of a sandwich

A peanut butter, Boyce Watkin is a faggot

Please come and get me

Said I suck him at your neck

Like a hickey, boy I am sicky

Like a HIV victim, man nobody fuckin' with me

I got banned from New Zealand, whitey called me a demon

And a terrorist, God damn it

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 nigga

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 gonna pop

Just like that nigga that was never around

Damn, about to drop, gas them up, thick exhaust

Young T, came quick, hard to beat, dick is soft

We aren’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 it’s the steaks

Now our section is great

Cause that's the level I'm at,

My niggas pass them a plate

Why, oh why, why?

Why don't they like me?

Cause Nike gave lot of niggaz’ 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 is the best thing going for me

You can't lynch Marshaw

If Tom Brady throwin' to me

I made a million mistakes, but I'm successful in spite of them

I believe you like a fat trainer takin' a bite or something

I want to turn the tanks to playgrounds

I dreamed 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 bumpy

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 ho

I hopped out, like what’s u?

Err-err-err, step back, hold up

My nigga you suck, 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"

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 you 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 them down, domino effect, no pepperoni

I swear

This them golf boys

Like them hot boys

For the nine, 9 and 2,000, but its the two-thou

When the one four and the one five, yo what up Wayne?

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

That’s a dream car

Got a full tank of that same year I was born

That's that one nine nine one,

Another 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

They be duckin' us niggaz

Shout out to Donald Sterling

Boy let’s get a scrimmage

I'll cut some niggas, I'll bring the Clippers

And a couple owners, that's kind of 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 niggaz from Alabama, Birmingham

I need music all over the street like Erick Sermon

Was, fuck us, maybe we should team up

Anti-Golf boys cause I don't fuck with me either

I'm a liar, I'm a 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

No, faggot, it's Golf Wang