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tyler, the creator - p lyrics

[intro]
broke d-ck, i’m looking for a drug lord

[verse 1: hodgy beats]
okay, welcome to my 12 bar (one, um..)
the beat, wears it like a kevlar
as i smoke my tree, medlar, south african
coughing ’til there’s pains in my f-cking abdomen
i spit negative just like a halogen
my breeze more of a f-cking masculine
the rascals win, k!lling ’em off with a javelin
snakes, i’m just rattling, suit tailor never tattling
you n-ggas a bunch of squares, madison
as far as real n-ggas, b-tch n-gga my battle’s sick
on top of being talented, b-tch i’m f-cking p-ssionate
i’m a golden curse, call me treacherous, treasure chest
better yet, i’ll build on to the beat like tetris
remember me forgetfulness? i am your correctionist
i st-tched odd and future together like a leather vest
you f-cking sweater neck, feather peck, rosetta checks
i put together decks and push for beef, if hefferless
i’m headed out to sydney australia with tim donnelly
he gets caught up at security, the tsa don’t follow me
tea parties are the sh-t, forty mags by the scones
i’m fighting for gun rights to shoot a n-gga in his dome
cl!ck your f-cking heels, there’s no place like home
c-ck back and blast off written on the tombstone, ain’t that a b-tch

[interlude]
that wasn’t a 12 bar (tyler, what’s up, n-gga?)
i can’t count (what’s wrong?)
(tyler what’s wrong man?)

[verse 2: tyler, the creator]
let’s see, what’s wrong with me?
might be my f-cking tourette’s, see?
i need a vacation cause all this sh-t got me stressing
so after the showers with sandusky
me and sean kingston went and rented a couple jet skis
lionel rolled the blunts up, so meanwhile
me and lucas getting f-cked up
you can smell us coming like a f-ggot when he hicks up
listening to common’s last album to get pumped up
to finally ask -censored- when i can get my d-ck sucked
you know casey anthony, was handling
dropping her kids off so she could come out and dance with me
wine in the pantry, wrestling on my trampoline
learned some new chords while you uncreatives were sampling
i’m wolf, i spit flow r-t-rdedly
as r-t-rded as the sound of deaf people arguing
you hold the future of the kid you daughter’s gargling
me, i have the odd future mothaf-ckin’ sergeanting
(tyler, calm the f-ck down) no, i’m the f-ck now
my poppa didn’t give one, that’s why i’m like this now
i’m still down to cut throat and if another fan asks
for a f-cking photo while i’m snacking on my pizza lunchable
i’m ‘a f-cking snap like berman when he acts right
then have a mental breakdown and proceed to use a crack pipe (don’t do that!)
of will be done for, n-ggas will be dumb poor
don’t believe me, ok be right back, i’m headed to the gun store
m-16’s and them 6 teens came out of nowhere
like your kid’s wet dream, what you mean old news
oh you really need us to f-cking show you
that we’re harder than findin a f-ckin snicker bar in whole foods
in a black hoodie, nose bruised and a gold tooth
hoping the f-ckin’ security guard doesn’t hold you in custody
but luckily had a couple of guns with me
like g-y step mom, none of you mothaf-ckas can f-ck with me

[outro]
vete a la casa de tu mama
no mas andan aqui con sus babosadas
que odd future ni que odd future
yo no se que es eso, idiotas
que chingados es odd future
golf w-ng, golf tyler? a mi me vale madre
ja.. y mira esa ropa
parecen una bola de payasos mugrosos!
por favor!

- tyler the creator lyrics

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