Tamale Lyrics - Tyler, The Creator

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? (Umm) 

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 

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Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! 

Why y'all so salty, Hot Tamale is on 

A can of beans 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!" 

Photos 

Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! 

Why y'all so salty, Hot Tamale is on 

A can of beans 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 CO fuck Michael bitch I'm badder than my BO 

Find me and lance tryna dance during chemo 

Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos 

Yeah Buddy, this is my jam, 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, Hot Tamale is on 

Can't agree? bitch im on 

Your boy is bad to the bone 

How many fags can a lightbulb 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, dryfit 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 

Wolf: Oh shit, aw fuck. 

Clancy: What the fuck! 

Wolf: Aw, I'm sorry. 

Clancy: Is that my shirt? 

Wolf: Yeah sorry I needed something 

Clancy: Clean that shit up, we're going to the office!