Tyler, The Creator - Fucking Lame lyrics
Tyler, The Creator [Tyler Gregory Okonma] Hawthorne, California, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Tyler, The Creator - Fucking Lame lyrics]
I'm rolling through Ladera in
A Bimmer looking cleaner
Drinking on a blueberry Slurpee
Eating that fajita
My passenger seat is occupied by señorita
And mother keeps on bugging me
About wanting to meet her
I don't really need her
I'm just tryna treat her real nice
And later on, up in the night
I could go eat her
And make a lie about the gonorrhea
So she don't feel guilty about
Me wanting to leave her
That "FUCK" on my t-shirt print is cheetah
And I got that '87 bunny flow, like an Easter
Basket, you faggots is plastic
Like nerds with old glasses
But I'm still liable to get my ass kicked
Kinda sorta active
A Baby Milo addict in the attic
Where you losers can't get me
Nikon and the Canon, they were never the same
And please do not take a picture
I can't be seen with you lames
Man, y'all some muthafuckin' lames
Man, y'all some muthafuckin' lames
Don't lie to yourself, y'all some lames
Man, y'all some l fuckin' lames
The Canon don't flash, y'all some lames
I cannot be seen with you lames
You mothafuckas is lames
Ahem tyler, the Creator
Ugh
Can't stop, fall, flashing, like a cop car
Me and ("Yay") , no Rockwell, I'm a rock star
Fuck y'all, the OF is banging on 'em
Custom crewnecks rolling 'round with
Ronald Regan on 'em ("Yay")
Y'all drug dealers, I Carl Sagan on 'em
Chop and screw Nas tracks
I got piano's waiting on 'em
My shirt is yellow, but the grill is gold
I couldn't take the Rit-lin 'cause my
Therapist said the pill is old
I can't stay, but I guess I lost control
I don't have sense, sorry, I sold my soul
For some gold Bapes low-price, stale rate
Authentic, never fake, check the poll
Our statistics
Stay with authentics, check my steelo
Cause my mob's goodie like we Cee-Lo
And he know i am, yes, and even she know
Every instrument is a gram, kilo ("Yay") oFM
Bangin' on your FM ace the Creator
A Bimmer looking cleaner
Drinking on a blueberry Slurpee
Eating that fajita
My passenger seat is occupied by señorita
And mother keeps on bugging me
About wanting to meet her
I don't really need her
I'm just tryna treat her real nice
And later on, up in the night
I could go eat her
And make a lie about the gonorrhea
So she don't feel guilty about
Me wanting to leave her
That "FUCK" on my t-shirt print is cheetah
And I got that '87 bunny flow, like an Easter
Basket, you faggots is plastic
Like nerds with old glasses
But I'm still liable to get my ass kicked
Kinda sorta active
A Baby Milo addict in the attic
Where you losers can't get me
Nikon and the Canon, they were never the same
And please do not take a picture
I can't be seen with you lames
Man, y'all some muthafuckin' lames
Man, y'all some muthafuckin' lames
Don't lie to yourself, y'all some lames
Man, y'all some l fuckin' lames
The Canon don't flash, y'all some lames
I cannot be seen with you lames
You mothafuckas is lames
Ahem tyler, the Creator
Ugh
Can't stop, fall, flashing, like a cop car
Me and ("Yay") , no Rockwell, I'm a rock star
Fuck y'all, the OF is banging on 'em
Custom crewnecks rolling 'round with
Ronald Regan on 'em ("Yay")
Y'all drug dealers, I Carl Sagan on 'em
Chop and screw Nas tracks
I got piano's waiting on 'em
My shirt is yellow, but the grill is gold
I couldn't take the Rit-lin 'cause my
Therapist said the pill is old
I can't stay, but I guess I lost control
I don't have sense, sorry, I sold my soul
For some gold Bapes low-price, stale rate
Authentic, never fake, check the poll
Our statistics
Stay with authentics, check my steelo
Cause my mob's goodie like we Cee-Lo
And he know i am, yes, and even she know
Every instrument is a gram, kilo ("Yay") oFM
Bangin' on your FM ace the Creator