French! lyrics

[Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator]
Got all the Black b*tches mad 'cause my main b*tch vanilla
She tryna get her groove back like Stella, grab the umbrella
When it comes to your perception of my sh*t, I'm Helen Keller
When it comes to the perfection of my sh*t, I know you smell the
Rectum, I'm like a chromosome, I always X 'em
Like Wolverine's stepson, attacking a deadly weapon
I'm opening a church to sell coke and Led Zeppelin
And f*ck Mary in her ass— Haha, yo
I'm f*cking Goldilocks up in the forest
In the three-bear house, eating they motherf*cking porridge
I tell her it's my house, give her a tour in my basement
And keep that b*tch locked up in my storage
Rape her and record it, then edit it with more sh*t
Octopus*y, special effect, direct
b*tches, we banging, and please never disrespect my set
With Canons hanging from our necks like it's a motherf*cking circus

[Chorus: Hodgy, Tyler, the Creator & Both]
You little n*ggas better check my French (My French)
Ugh, you getting money? Better check my French (My French)
Uh, what time is it, huh? check my French (My French)
If you got my sh*t, you better check my French (Motherf*cker!)
I'm making moves, sh— check my French (My French)
I speak English, but check my French (My French)
Your ho be on my p*nis, she check my French
b*tch!
[Verse 2: Tyler, the Creator & Hodgy]
I guess I left my dignity up in the cupboard
'Cause every girl I'm digging
When I'm digging in her pus*y, I'm never using (A rubber)
But f*ck it, I guess I gotta stretch it out like it was flubber
And leave it dripping green and red like double cheeseburgers
Chewing on c*m like bubblegum from Hubba
This b*tch knew di*k like Bubba knew shrimp (Hahahaha)
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 b*tch 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

[Chorus: Hodgy, Tyler, the Creator & Both]
You little n*ggas better check my French (My French)
Ugh, you getting money? Better check my French (My French)
Uh, what time is it, huh? check my French (My French)
If you got my sh*t, you better check my French (Motherf*cker!)
I'm making moves, sh— check my French (My French)
I speak English, but check my French (My French)
Your ho be on my p*nis, she check my French
b*tch!
[Verse 3: Hodgy]
Yo, you little n*ggas better check my French
I got all-stars, and you can check my bench
Left Brain, Super 3, Creator Ace
Put expressions in the music and create the face
Of the picture—punchline, figured out, "Ahh, I get you"
No, you don't, n*gga, so why don't you go'n' 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
b*tches having eargasms, and the pleasure is us
n*ggas 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 sh*t, throw it up down in the sink, yo
These Odd n*ggas are beginning to spill these pink flows
We think sorta odd, so we think so

[Verse 4: Tyler, the Creator]
Crusing in my go-kart at Walmart selling cupcakes
Go 'head, admit it, faggot, this sh*t is tighter than butt rape
That involve Ballpark Franks and silver duct tape
Pornos, some hormones, and boxes of DiGiorno
You homos is loco, you probably drinking Cuervo
With some vatos, with the door closed, watching "Zorro"
You homos
[Outro: Tyler, the Creator & Dr. TC]
O.F.
Yes
So, are you dating anyone right now? You know, or...
No, I'm— I'm just playing the field, just for now
Ah, so... I'm guessing she's white, since she's "vanilla"
Haha