Текст песни Tyler, the Creator - Seven

Текст:

[Verse 1] I'd tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders I give a fuck like a quarter with 20 cent At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxin' at Happy Camper It's the fuckin' financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxin', I'm taxin' "Fuck 'em all!" I'm chantin', don't complain I'm just rantin' Fuck 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, fucking fairies I'm using my tooth bait to get that bitches teeth paste Fuck it, Odd Future some nazis, black nazis don't copy We perfect, you sloppy, huddled and slightly tacky Fuck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett (?) and jaguars, drug dealers and crackers Able students and slackers I'm backwards like Jermaine Dupri in '93 Escaping from concentration camps with a fucking 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 motherfucker Frannie White, red-headed bitch reminded me of Annie She dyno like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me Fuck you bunches here, never disrespect my family That’s for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie Wasted fuckin' youth? All you old niggas antiques We go skate, rape sluts and eat donuts from Randy Bitches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy Motherfuckers wanna be Odd but you can't be Sit the fuck down all you old niggas stand me, faggot [Verse 2] I guess I gotta be a fuckin' hand-me-down rapper From Los Angee area anytime I'm fuckin' landing Fuck 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track Them motherfuckers could never get rid of me Guess I gotta do a fucking song with Dom Kennedy Get these fuckin' hip hop bloggers to start feelin' me Because I'm seventeen, compose my own beats Lyrically I'm dope enough to ass-fuck the dude who made nicotine Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some fuckin' skinny jeans And follow in your footsteps like a motherfuckin' millipede Centipede, make songs about Gucci and cigaweed Jerk with my friends like it's some motherfuckin' little league No I ain't no fucking hipster, mister No I'm not no fucking Kid Cudi, all my fucking fans love me Collaboration hits for fans screaming fuck buddies, yo, yo [Verse 3] I'm drivin' in a stolen truck, and I'm probably fuckin' drunk Wasted as fuck, can't walk it out, DJ Unk My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked (Shut the fuck up!) Who the fuck told me not to spoke? Fuck everybody here, everybody vanish, I'll manage Hop off my dick and make a fucking sandwitch Everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish Fuck you, faggot (Fuckin' Bastard) [Outro] 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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