Album: Wolf (2013)
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  • Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

    They say I've calmed down since the last album
    Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um
    Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
    And I don't give a shit, bend my rectum
    Somebody said bands make her dance
    You think you're getting cash, no bitch, you're dumb
    The only thing that you're gonna get is this dick
    Wait turn this up, bitch, this my jam, (Where the drums at?)
    Here, take a goddamn picture
    And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn nigger
    And while you're at it, pass the lotion
    And fapping and Xbox live, that fun
    Before I come, I'm calling your sister
    When she comes over, I take picture
    Instantly put it on Instagram and suplex her off a building if I get banned

    Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
    Why y'all so salty, I do molly and zone
    Can't agree bitch I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone

    Bring back the horns that was played in the beginning
    And tell Tony Parker that I found his vision
    And if he's tripping off my sneak dissing
    Then he has to deal with me and my minions
    Tryna get a Bimmer, e46
    Have you heard 48, motherfucka I'm great
    Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
    From cuts from the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please
    Fuck I look like, got a new bike tire
    Never popped like the pussy on a bitch dyke
    Think I give a fuck, I do, I go balls
    And I bust in her jaw like (Fuck that disease!)
    My urethra, hole that I pee from
    Bigger than an obese snack on Aretha
    Now, turn that snare down
    I'm back like I'm Rosa Parks fare on the same damn bus
    Like "you're going to jail now!"

    Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
    Why y'all so salty, I do molly and zone
    Can't agree bitch I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone

    How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
    If a woodchuck could ever give a fuck?
    Bitch suck dick, motherfuck you and your opinions, (Can you kick it?)
    Yes I can sir
    Where the lump is sicker than the last bar bold-er
    I'm a C.O. Colorado, fuck Michael bitch I'm badder than my B.O.
    Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo
    Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos

    Yeah buddy, na na na na na na na
    Golf wang, golf wang, go fuck you, na na na na na na
    Why y'all so salty
    I do molly and zone
    Can't agree, bitch I'm on
    Your boy is bad to the bone

    How many fags can a light bulb screw?
    Well if I has a dick, they be two's and sixes
    And tell the NRA I'm about to lose my shit
    Shoot through Wayne Lapierre's hair with a crucifix
    How many ladies in the house?
    How many ladies in the house without a rich nigga, huh?

    A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin'
    Hope my mom don't catch me, tryna set mood
    Little Redtube, fuck lotion, I don't need lube, dry fit suits me
    Up and down, friction with the sound, shit's kind of disgusting
    Fap time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me
    This shit's so damn embarrassing like Writer/s: Tyler Okonma
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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