Tyler, The Creator ☆ Slater

[Hook: Tyler, the Creator]

Me and Slater just hit a curb,

Bunny hop, zoning out, listening to N.E.R.D,

Made a couple thousands turds spitting written verbs,

Shit, now I kick it in the ‘burbs

[Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator]

Me? I’m from the slums, niggas who pushing tons

Tons of drugs, Foul flow dirty mouth like kissing bums

Momma done made her one, a witty son

With no respect for women so-so, show me your titties hun

“You eighteen?”, Me? I’m twenty something

Okay I’m twenty, but I’m soon to be twenty-one

I wild out at shows, break shit it should be fun

Venues are like pussy with me, “Should he cum?”

I’mma wax that like the chapstick in my backpack, for my black lips

Then dip to Europe and come back with a stack of cheese

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New Preme shit got me feeling flyer than a bag of bees

Fuck critics, (How’s your dick?), “Shit, How’s your knees?”

Y’all on my dick more than my index when I take a pee

Came up with ”Rella”, ain’t touch a bag of weed

Shit was doper than, Whitney Houston’s needs

Golf Wang, that’s the team to be, “Aye!”, getting TU, OF NB

We was missing Sweatshirt like, where’s the hooded sleeve

Okay, nevermind, we found him

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Tyler, the Creator]

Guess I win, checks started cashing in,

I stopped rapping and started asking “Where my fucking passion is?”,

Probably where that faggot went (Who?), Tyler talking father problems,

Shocky shit he spit to popping topics in a gossip column,

I ain’t ask for this, I did it out of boredom,

Thought that roach was cool, he died and pushed me into stardom,

Now Ye’s PJ sippin leche, Chips Ahoy! boy, listening to Cowboy,

Aye boy, land in Melbourne and skate to Fitzroy (Aye!),

AUS was AWES, I enjoyed, boy, y’all niggas played as a tot’s toy,

Have a good day as I annoy, oi.

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Tyler, the Creator]

Cameras with panorama’s views

My shoes have seen more vans than Mexicanas with crackers in Alabama

G-O-to the-L-F, this O-F, I open a store so I don’t stress

But nigga I, (What?), mosh in gardens, jazz punk shit

Playing chords, making up shit, pardon my Dolly Parton’s

And I keep sharting, hoodies with rectangles and different colors

Niggers think I started kindergarten

[Interlude: Frank Ocean, Tyler, the Creator]

My bitch was on my handle bars

(I just wanna ride my bike)

Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater

My bitch was on my handle bars

Hair blowing in the wind

Her freckles look like candy bars

Hair blowing in the wind

My bitch was on my handle bars

(I just wanna ride my bike)

Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater

My bitch was on my handle bars

Hair blowing in the wind

Her freckles look like candy bars

My cool summer never ends

Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater

[Frank Ocean]

Oh my god.. I guess you’re a cool guy

You’re talking to a fucking bike, loser

(haha)

Oh… Fuck.