Tamale lyrics

[Intro: Tallulah]
Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!

[Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator]
They say I've calmed down since the last album
Well, lick my di*k, how does that sound? Um
Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
And I don't give a sh*t, bend my rectum
Somebody said bands make her dance
She thinks you're getting cash, no, b*tch, you're dumb
The only thing that you're gonna get is this di*k
Wait, turn this up, b*tch, this my jam (Where the drums at?)
Here, take a goddamn picture
And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn nig​ger
And while you're at it, pass the lotion
And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun
Before I c*m, I call your sister
When she comes over, I take picture
Instantly put it on Instagram
And suplex her off a building if I get banned
(I'm just f*cking around)

[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]
Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
Why y'all so salty?
Hot tamale is on
A can of beans, b*tch, I'm on
Your boy is bad to the bone
[Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator]
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 (Uh)
Then he has to deal with me and my minions
Tryna get a Bimmer, E46
Have you heard "48"? Motherf*cker, I'm great (Yeah)
Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
From cuts for the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please
f*ck I look like? Got a new bike
Tire never pop like the puss on a butch dyke
Think I give a f*ck, I do, I go raw
Then I bust in her jaw like (f*ck that disease, b*tch!)
My urethra, hole that I pee from
Bigger than the obese neck 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"

[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]
Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
Why y'all so salty?
Hot tamale is on
A can of beans, b*tch, I'm on
Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator]
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck
If a woodchuck could ever give a f*ck? b*tch, suck di*k
Motherf*ck' 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
Colorado, f*ck Michael, b*tch, I'm badder than my BO
Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo
Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos
[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]
Yeah, buddy, this is my jam, na, na, na, na, na, na, na!
Golf Wang, Golf Wang, no, f*ck you, na, na, na, na, na, na!
Why y'all so salty?
Hot tamale is on
A can of beans, b*tch, I'm on
Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 4: Tyler, The Creator]
How many fags can a lightbulb screw?
Well, if it has a di*k, maybe two or six
And tell the NRA I'm about to lose my sh*t
And shoot through Wayne LaPierre's hair with a crucifix
How many ladies in the house?
How many ladies in the house without a rich n*gga, huh?
A little Jergens in my palm for the j*rkin'
Hope my mom don't catch me
Tryna set mood, little RedTube, f*ck lotion
I don't need lube, dry fist suits me (Yeah)
Up and down, friction make a *fap fap* sound
The sh*t's kind of disgusting, fap time
And before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me
This sh*t's so damn embarrassing, like—

[Outro: Tyler, The Creator & Christian Clancy]
Oh, sh*t, aw, f*ck
What the f*ck?
Aw, I'm sorry
Is that my shirt?
Yeah, I'm sorry, I just wanted some bangs
Clean that sh*t up, we're going to the office!
f*ck