(Chorus)
For your boy
I’m watching F***ks and Geeks with the trampoline on the floor
I’m tryna pop the McLaren with the vertical doors ni**a
(Verse 1 – Tyler, The Creator)
Money, money, money, money, money ain’t the motive
What’s your name again? Nobody knows it
Don’t speak to me ni**a, you not important
I’m focused
They say I’m nutty, picnic basket
Not short of a sandwich
A peanut butter, Boyce Watkin’s a fa***t
Please come and get me
Said I s**k him at your neck
Like a hickey, boy I’m sicky
Like a HIV victim , man nobody f**king with me
I got banned from New Zealand, whitey called me demon
And a terrorist, God dammit I couldn’t believe it
Ban a kid from the country, I never fall, never timber
But you f**ked up as a parent, your child idol’s a ni**a
I clearly don’t give a f**k, say you could run that sh** back
And f**k your loud pack, and f**k your Snapchat
Cherry Bomb, the greatest f**king album since the days of sound
And that s**t gong pop just like that ni**a that was never round
Damn, bout to drop, gas em up, thick exhaust
Young T, came quick, hard to beat, d**k is soft
We ain’t lying, we the truth, call him Simba, beats his hooves
Tyler the Creator sweating Jesus juice
Put that f**king cow on my level, cause I’m raising the stakes
Mom I made you a promise, it’s no more section 8
When we ate its the steaks, now our section is great
Cause that’s the level I’m at, my ni**aès pass em a plate
(Verse 2 – Kanye West)
Why, why, why?
Why don’t they like me?
Cause Nike gave lot of ni**aès checks
But I’m the only ni**a ever to check Nike
Richer than white people with black kids
Scarier than black people with ideas
Nobody can tell me where I’m heading
But I feel like Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen at my wedding
They say I’m crazy but that’s the best thing going for me
You can’t Lynch Marshawn, and Tom Brady throwing to me
I made a million mistakes, but I’m successful in spite of em
I believe you like a fat trainer taking a bite or something
I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds
I dream’t of 2Pac, he asked me “are you still down?”
Yeah my ni**a, Its on, its on, its on, its on
I know they told their white daughters don’t bring home Jerome
I am the free ni**a archetype
I am the light and the beacon, you can ask the deacon
It’s funny when you get extra money
Every joke you tell just be extra funny
I mean you can even dress extra bummy
Cocaine, bathroom break, nose extra runny
And I gave you all I got, you still want extra from me
Oxford want a full blown lecture from me
And the Lexus pull up, skrt like hop, I’d hopped out, wassup
Erg erg erg, step back, hold up, my leg’ll be stuck
I studied the proportions, emotions runnin’ out of Autobahn
Speed level, had a drink with fear, and I was texting God
He said I gave you a big d**k, so go extra hard
(Second Chorus)
For your boy
I’m tryna pop the McLaren with the vertical doors
I’m watching Freaks and Geeks got a trampoline in my room
Damn
(Bridge)
Two, Three, Four
Hold your f**king horses
Ni**a’s really f**king thought that T lost it
Like I’m better at an auction been exhausted
I been working while y’all cylinders smoke like broken exhaust tips
F**king losers
(Lil Wayne)
Hold your f**king ponies my homie
I whip your donkey by my lonely I eat pu**y like Shoney’s
That’s Tunechi, homie, master of ceremonies
I knock em down, domino effect, no pepperoni
I swear
(Verse 3 – Tyler the Creator)
This them golf boys, like them hot boys
For the nine, 9 and 2,000, but its the 2,000
When the one four and the one five, yo what up Wayne
What up Slime, ni**a go hard
Yeah, I’mma go hard like before Cain
Got too much drive, need like ten lanes
Life is a broad and she give brain
That’s that road head, thats a dream car
Got a four ten, of that same year I was born
That’s that one nine nine one, nother ni**a like I
You gon find one, cuz ni**a I’m a god, a divine one, Tune
(Verse 4 – Lil Wayne)
My trigger finger wise but my nine dumb
Middle finger blind so its f**k any one
F**k, 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
Steaks are high well done and prime cut, eat up
I stick my rollie in her mouth, let the time come
She got hair like Shanaynay, and eyes like Wonda
Oh my goodness
(Verse 5 – Tyler, the Creator)
Wayne them bi**hes ugly, these ni**a’s colder than Tommy buddy
Ye we hitting models like Tony Parker be hitting bottles
B***h I’m going harder than yellow cabby stopping for Lionel
Black ass ni**a
They be duckin us ni**a’s, shout out to Donald Sterling
Boy lets get a scrimmage, i’ll cut some ni**a’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 bodies burning
Cuz I’m tryna hang like I’m Mr. Cooper or Jews in Berlin
Or some ni**a’s from Alabama, Birmingham
I need music all over the street like Erick Sermon
Was, f**k us, maybe we should team up
Anti Golf boys cuz I don’t f**k with me either
I’mma liar, I’mma faggot
(Verse 6 – Lil Wayne)
Son you need Jesus
But I heard he left sunset, to go on tour with Yeezus, well
I’m praying for the new Yeezys
And you pussies praying that we squash the beef like zucchinis
I know, it ain’t gain, nor fame, nor tame
Or lame, nor strange
