SMUCKERS [DJ DRAMA TIME MIX] Lyrics – Tyler, The Creator
Singer: Tyler, The Creator
Title: SMUCKERS [DJ DRAMA TIME MIX]
For your boy
I’m watching freaks and geeks with the trampoline on the floor
I’m tryna cop the new mclaren with the vertical doors
n#gg#
Money, money, money, money, money ain’t the motive
What’s your name again? nobody knows it
Don’t speak to me, n#gg#, you not important
I’m focused (two, three, four)
Bring in the horns
They say i’m nutty, i’m picnic basket
I’m short of a sandwich, i’m peanut butter
Boyce watkins a faggot, please come and get me (two, three, four)
Said i suckin’ at your neck, like a hickey, boy, i’m sicky (two, three, four)
Like a hiv victim, ain’t nobody f#ckin’ with me
I got i got i got
Next time i fall in love with anyone
I’m taking that pistol to they head and forcing them to be
With me and if they say no i’m taking that
Belt and tying it to the wrists and ankles to the walls
So then he will not fall and i’ll have her forever
Eat cheddar n#gg#
I got banned from new zealand, why they called me a demon (yeah)
And a terrorist? g#dd#mn it, i couldn’t believe it
Ban a kid from a country, i never fall, never timber (two, three, four)
But you f#cked up as a parent, your child idol’s a n#gg#
I clearly don’t give a f#ck, so you could run that sh#t back
And f#ck your loud pack, and f#ck your snapchat (man…)
Cherry bomb the greatest f#ckin’ album since the days of sound (two, three, four)
And that sh#t gon’ pop just like that n#gg# that was never ’round
Damn, ’bout to drop, gas ’em up, thick exhaust (woo)
Young t, came quick, hard to beat, dick is soft
We ain’t lyin’, we the truth, call him simba, beats his hooves (two, three, four)
Put that f#ckin’ cow on my level, ’cause i’m raising the stakes (why, oh, why don’t they like me? they don’t like me, oh)
Mom, i made you a promise, it’s no more section 8
And when we ate, it was the steaks, now our section is great (why, why, why, why, why, why, why, don’t they like me?)
’cause that’s the level i’m at, my n#gg#, pass ’em a plate
‘ye!
〈kanye west:〉
Why, oh why, why, why don’t they like me? (two, three, four)
’cause nike gave a lot of n#gg#s checks (two, three, four)
But i’m the only n#gg# to ever check nike
Richer than white people with black kids
Scarier than black people with ideas (two, three, four)
Nobody can tell me where i’m headin’ (two, three, four)
But i feel like michael jordan, scottie pippen at my weddin’ (yeah)
They say i’m crazy, but that’s the best thing goin’ for me
You can’t lynch marshawn if tom brady throwin’ to me (two, three, four)
I made a million mistakes, but i’m successful in spite of ’em (two, three, four)
I believe you like a fat trainer taking a bite of somethin’
I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds
I dreamt of 2pac, he asked me “are you still down?” yeah, my n#gg# (two, three, four)
It’s on, it’s on, it’s on, it’s on (two, three, four)
I know they told they white daughters, “don’t bring home jerome”
I am the free n#gg# archetype (woo)
I am the light and the beacon; you can ask the deacon (ask the deacon)
It’s funny, when you get extra money (two, three, four)
Every joke you tell just be extra funny (yeah, yeah)
I mean, you can even dress extra bummy
Cocaine, bathroom break, nose extra runny (two, three, four)
And i gave you all i got, you still want extra from me (woo) (two, three, four)
Oxford want a full-blown lecture from me
And the lexus pull up, errr, like hop, i hopped out, like wassup?
Err-err-err, step back, hold up, my n#gg#, you suck
Hold up (skrrt!)
I studied the proportions
Emotions runnin’ at a autobahn speed-level (two, three, four)
Had a drink with fear, and i was textin’ god (two, three, four)
He said, “i gave you a big dick, so go extra hard”, uh (woo)
For your boy
I’m tryna cop the new mclaren with the vertical doors
I’m watchin’ freak and geeks, got a trampoline in my room
Damn (two, three, four)
〈part ii〉
〈dj drama:〉
Dramatime!
Hold your f#ckin’ horses
n#gg#s really f#ckin’ thought that t lost it
Like i bet it at a auction
Been exhausted, i been workin’
While y’all silly bros smoke like broken exhaust tips
f#ckin’ losers
Hold your f#ckin’ ponies, my homie
I’ll whip your donkey by my lonely, i eat p#ss# like shoney’s, yeah
It’s tunechi, homie, master of ceremonies
I knock ’em down, domino effect, no pepperoni, i swear(yeah)
It’s them golf boys, like them hot boys (yeah)
For the nine-nine and two-thousand
But it’s the two-thou’ and (yeah)
The one-four and the one-five, yo, what up, wayne?
What up, slime? n#gg#, go hard
Yeah, i’ma go hard like before came
Got too much drive, need like ten lanes
Life is a broad, and she give brain
That’s that road head (yeah), that’s a dream car
Got a full tank of that same year i was born
That’s that one-nine-nine-one
‘nother n#gg# like i, you won’t find one
’cause, n#gg#, i’m a god, a divine one; tune! (two, three, four)
My trigger finger wise, but my 9 dumb (yeah)
Middle finger blind, so it’s f#ck a-n-y-one (um)
f#ck, 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
Stakes are high, well done, and prime cut; eat up
I stick my rollie in her mouth, let the time come
She got hair like sheneneh, and eyes like wanda
Oh my goodness
Wayne, them b#tches ugly
These n#gg#s colder than tommy buddy
Ye, we hittin’ models like tony parker be hittin’ bottles
b#tch, i’m goin’ harder than yellow cabbies stoppin’ for lionel (black #ss n#gg#)
They be duckin’ us n#gg#s, shout out to donald sterling (two, three, four)
Boy, let’s get a scrimmage
And cut some n#gg#s, i’ll bring the clippers
And a couple owners that’s kinda german
You bring the nooses
And a couple trees, where the money grow
And get bodies burnin’
’cause i’m tryna hang like i’m mr. cooper or jews in berlin
Or some n#gg#s from alabama, birmingham
My new music’s all over the street like erick sermon was
f#ck us, maybe we should team up
Anti-golf boys ’cause i don’t f#ck with me either
I’m a liar, i’m a faggot, ugh! son, you need jesus
But i heard he left sunset to go on tour with yeezus (that’s too harsh)
Well, i’m prayin’ for the new yeezys
And you p#ssies prayin’ that we squash the beef like zucchini
I know, it ain’t gain, nor fame, nor tame
Or lame, nor strange, nah, faggot, it’s golf wangyou might also like
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Lyrics Tyler, The Creator – SMUCKERS [DJ DRAMA TIME MIX]
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