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Tyler, The Creator
песня French
Текст песни Tyler, The Creator - French
Got all the black bitches mad cause my main bitch vanilla She tryna get her groove back like Stella, grab the umbrella When it comes to your perception of my shit, I’m Helen Keller When it comes to the perfection of my shit, I know you smell the Rectum, I’m like a chromosome, I always X 'em Like Wolverine stepson attacking a deadly weapon I’m opening a church to sell coke and Led Zeppelin And fuck Mary in her ass… Yo, I’m fucking Goldilocks up in the forest In the three bear house eating their mothafuckin' porridge I tell her it’s my house, give her a tour In my basement, and keep that bitch locked up in my storage Rape her and record it, then edit it with more shit Octopussy special effect the wet bitches be banging And please never disrespect my set With Canons hanging from our necks like it’s a mothafuckin' circus You little niggas better (check my French) You getting money? Better (check my French) What time is it, huh? (Check my French) If you got my shit you better check my French, motherfucker I’m making moves, (check my French) I speak English but (check my French) Your ho be on my penis, she (check my French) Bitch I guess I left my dignity up in the cupboard Cause every girl I’m digging, when I’m digging in her pussy I’m never using a rubber But fuck it, I guess I got to stretch it out like it was flubber And leave it dripping green and red like double cheese burgers Chewing on cum like bubble gum from Hubba This bitch knew dick like Bubba knew shrimp, yeah Yo, I’m seventeen, already sniffing blow I tell my friends it’s asthma every time I start to itch my throat I got a new show for MTV, «Pimp My Boat» Because some bitch said my semen was dirty, that silly ho The most that they can do is fine me, I’m hiding Somewhere where Chris Stokes can’t find me Oh no Mr. Stokes, I don’t like misters, no Don’t tell R. Kelly where my little sister go You little niggas better (check my French) You getting money? Better (check my French) What time is it, huh? (Check my French) If you got my shit you better check my French, motherfucker I’m making moves, (check my French) I speak English but (check my French) Your ho be on my penis, she (check my French) Bitch Yo, you little niggas better check my French I got all stars and you can check my bench Left Brain, Super 3, Creator Ace Put expressions in their music and create the face Of the picture, punchline, figured out, ahh I get you No, you don’t, nigga, so why don’t you go and figure? You seem confused anyway, pressured enough? You the type to do the choke when the pressure is up The pressure is the pump and the pressure is us Bitches having eargasms and the pleasure is us Niggas wanna be O.F. and write letters to us Competition’s competition, yo, you better than us? Digest what I’m saying? I don’t think so We sick shit, throw it up down in the sink, yo These Odd niggas are beginning to spill these pink flows We think sorta odd, so we think so Crusing in my go-kart at Walmart selling cupcakes Go ahead admit it, faggot, this shit is tighter than butt rape That involve Ballpark Franks and silver duct tape Pornos and hormones and boxes of DiGiorno You homos is loco, you’re probably drinking Cuervo With some vatos with the door closed watching Zorro You homos O.F., yes (So, are you dating anyone right now? You know, or.) No, I’m just playing the field, just for now (Ah, so I’m guessing she’s white, since she’s 'vanilla' Hahah)
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