Tyler, The Creator - THE BROWN STAINS OF DARKEESE LATIFAH PART 6-12 [Remix]

Oh, you the motherfucking man, huh?

Oh, you be fucking bitches, counting all the bands, huh?

Oh, you be trapping out the bando selling grams, huh?

Oh, you be smoking, drinking lean, and popping Xans, huh?

You see, that's the bullshit that I don't need

I'm telling y'all niggas, y'all ain't fucking with me

See, I looked in the mirror and he said, "You are the man"

And I said, "Hey man, I agree"

Rocks on rainbow, Ben's a nice fellow

Your neck reflects your personality, and mine is yellow

Boy, I hit the block, like I hate Legos

They know, they got thirty seconds; Jared Leto

Before they see some halos, and I reload the ammo

Boy, it's Golf Wang-o, and that's the squad I bang-o

Until my fucking brain go, now let's reload the aim-o

Can't a nigga get some fucking chaos in hurr?

I'm the truth and the dare

And you can get your ass beat just like the kick and the snare

ScHoolboy's my niggy, you know I'm good in the 50s

That boy not that bad, eh, it's no Biggie

It's the G-O, and the L-F, we go-go, no homo

We blackout, and go hard like JoJo and fuckin' Diggy

No ship in this series, since I pissed off Iggy man

Been that man since Batman had a sidekick

Catch me in some Vans like one of them soccer mamas

And them bitches blue like that family went to a Dodger

Solve 'em (Oh no!) You can't bitch, I'm a problem

And you'll get fucked up like the thoughts inside of my noggin

Going harder than the quidditch in Harry Potter

All my shows got one black in it like Larry David

And I'm that nigga, meaning I'm two niggas, I'm schizo

Brent Lowe, mind motherfuckin' been gone

Pink and yellow on my neck remind you of my dickhole

And I don't really fuck with you niggas, shout out to Jim Crow

Don't get offended, love being darkskinned-ed

23 with a crib, and I don't got no tenants

And I don't like sports, but the court got a tennis

Is that diamonds on your neck? Stay the fuck out my business

See, that's that Cherry Bomb, get my burr on

That's McLaren, '91 out the Chevron

Motors Flog Gnaw, Vans on, fuck your Jordans

Went from throwing up to throwing carnivals

Boy, I'm a sicko, Flaco nigga, but kinda macho

Boy, I got some vatos and shout out to ScHooly, he kinda loco

Pack a de la pistol, we splitting nachos, then for that cheese

Boy, he was using some shells just like a taco, so grab your goggles

Nigga, Taco Tuesday, you don't want none of that

Have you heard of Fairfax? Boy, we was running that

Nigga took the store from us, yeah, fuck all of that

(Man, he really took the store)

Crack a cracker with a barrel, uh (yeah)

Gang bang tattoos, this ain't a Louis rag (rag)

Orange Paisley got me crip crazy (uh, sup cuz?)

Pants heavy, sag to the left with the belt strapped

No face mask, nigga, just toe tags

Still, the blunts getting passed, yeah

Ain't worried 'bout no niggas (nigga)

I don't grieve over suckers (sucker)

Gunpowder on my knuckles (knuckle)

Call the ambulances (ambulances)

I'm from the era of crip walking

You was clown-dancing, you wanna be me, huh?

Cuz is wack in his raps and what he rap, he ain't done

It's Top Dawg, Wolf Gang, smell the cat on your tongue

Pussyboy, you fucked over, nigga, control your gums

Teeth missing, moms' won't recognize your face when it's lump

My square homie's license, double life in my trunk

Mind, power, body, and soul, we break handcuffs

Got a strike on my record, double cups, and duck

You want the life like us, you need to crip that coast

You want to steer that wheel, you want to smoke that kill

Well, who am I?

• Artist:Tyler, The Creator
• Album:rry Bomb