Seven Lyrics by Tyler The Creator


Tyler The Creator Lyrics

Seven Lyrics
[Verse 1:]
I'd tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders
I give a f*ck like a quarter with twenty cent
At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxin' at Happy Camper
It's the f*ckin' financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxin', I'm taxin'
"F*ck 'em all! " I'm chantin', don't complain I'm just rantin'
F*ck 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, f*cking fairies
I'm using my tooth bait to get that bitches teeth paste
F*ck it, Odd Future some nazis, black nazis don't copy
We perfect, you sloppy, huddled and slightly tacky
F*ck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet
Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett
Thrashers and jaguars, drug dealers and crackers
Angry students and slackers
I'm Bad was like Jermaine Dupri in '93
Escaping from concentration camps with a f*cking 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 motherf*cker friendly
White, red-headed bitch reminded me of Annie
She dyno like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me
F*ck you bunches here, never disrespect my family
That's for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie
Wasted f*ckin' youth? All you old niggas antiques
We go skate, break sluts and eat donuts from Randy
Bitches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy
Motherf*ckers wanna be Odd but you can't be
Sit the f*ck down all you old niggas stand me, faggot

[Verse 2:]
I guess I gotta be a f*ckin' hand-me-down rapper
From Los Angee area anytime I'm f*ckin' landing
F*ck 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track
Them motherf*ckers could never get rid of me
Guess I gotta do a f*cking song with Dom Kennedy
Get these f*ckin' hip hop bloggers to start feelin' me
Because I'm 17, compose my own beats
Lyrically I'm dope enough to ass-f*ck the dude who made nicotine
Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some f*ckin' skinny jeans
And follow in your footsteps like a motherf*ckin' millipede
Centipede, make songs about Gm and cigaweed
Jerk with my friends like it's some motherf*ckin' little league
No I ain't no f*cking hipster, mister
No I'm not no f*cking Kid Cudi, all my f*cking fans love me
Collaboration hits for fans screaming f*ck buddies, yo, yo

[Verse 3:]
I'm drivin' in a stolen truck, and I'm probably f*ckin' drunk
Wasted as f*ck, can't walk it out, DJ Unk
My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked
(Shut the f*ck up!) Who the f*ck told me not to spoke?
F*ck everybody here, everybody vanish, I'm managed
Hop off my dick and make a f*cking sandwitch
Everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish
F*ck you, faggot (F*ckin' bastard)

[Outro:]
Yeah, ummm... as you can probably tell from listening to this record
I was... I was probably angry, probably on my period
But ummm... I didn't mean to offend anyone, alright, I'm lying, OF


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