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tron cat but you can actually listen to it - tyler, the creator lyrics

[intro]
la, la, la, la, la, la, la
aaaahhh!

[verse]
satan’s getting jealous of the wolves, the demons say they preferring us
books on not giving a f*ck is what they’re referring us (wolf gang)
wolves, i know you heard of us, we’re murderers
and young enough to get the f*cking priest to come and flirt with us
you n*ggas rap about f*cking b*tches and getting head
instead i rap about f*cking b*tches and getting heads
while you n*ggas stacking bread, i can stack a couple dead
bodies, making red look less of a color, more of a hobby
i’m not a rapper nor a rapist nor a racist
i f*ck b*tches with no permission and tend to hate sh*t
brag about the actions in a rhyming pattern matter
then proceed to sat her down when i go splatter in her chatterbox
atta boy, odd future, you’re not in our categore
torture with the super soaker at the asian liquor store
this the type of sh*t that make a chris brown want to kick a wh0re
that make songs about the wet blockers when it rains and pours
(umbrella) i hate this, screaming f*ck patience
got a n*gga shaking like the calmest f*cking haitian
after chronic m*st*rbation, asking where mary*kate went
i want to be the reasons why all lesbians hate d*ck
i make this d*mn bullwinkle the red moose
game of duck*duck*duct tape with a dead goose
she running ’round this motherf*cking dungeon, her legs loose
until i accidentally get the saw to her head, oops
victim, victim, honey, you’re my fifth one
honey on that topping when i stuff you in my system
rape a pregnant b*tch and tell my friends i had a threesome
you got a f*cking death wish? i’m a genie, it’ll get done
nice to meet you, but it’s more pleasant to eat you
with a leaf of salad and some dressing pouring out a teacup
b*tch, i’m tyler the creature, suck your feet up like a beach of leeches
rubber more than the f*cking bottom of a sneaker
jeeper the f*cking creeper, get your daughter and keep her
in the jeeps where the wolf gang rides around deeper
take her to ladera, now she’s scared and you’re embarrassed
filled with terror, chop her legs off and tell her to run some errands
put her eyes in a canteen, take her to the berrics
stare at steve, say it costs ten to f*ck eric
put her in the lake, her body sinks great, now it’s time to fish her like derek
satan says we’re dangerous, we’re trading kids for angel dust
and snuff and sniff, and now that michael jackson’s trying to suck our d*ck
hippopot the f*cking llamas, dead bodies, cheerleading squaders
gave the team a bunch of f*cking bees and the keke palmer
they will never catch him or catch up
they asked me what it was, i told them f*ckers it was ketchup
nutty like my chex mix, she bleeding from her r*ct*m
odd future wolves stirring ruckus, throwing sets up, yeah
this the type of sh*t that make children break in apartments
when you tell a f*cking orphan you don’t love them ’til they heart thin
(i hate you!) starve her ’til i carve her then i shove her in the rover
where i cut her like a barber with a parkinson’s disorder
store her in a portable freezer with me to portland
catch me with a bunch of f*cking mexicans crossing the border (arriba!)
i’ll be the only wetback who ain’t really touched the water
cause i’ll be too f*cking busy tryna flirt with jesus’ daughter
(f*ck mary) i’m awesome, and i f*ck dolphins
sicker than the starving nigerian kids barfing
odd future wolf gang n*z* bar mitzvah
with your sister at the bar playing leg and arm twister
evident that i’m the sh*t, i’m the pooh like tigger d*ck
i got these cracker doctors saying, “yeah bob, this n*gga’s sick”
animal safari, if i offend you i’m sorry
because i’m the blackest skinhead since india arie
i don’t smoke weed, so no need for the matches
i said f*ck coke and now i’m snorting hitler’s ashes
i plan on either dying for suicide or my asthma
being the only b*st*rd in a box logo casket
rashes on my d*ck from l!cks of shishkabob sagets
in some kanye west glasses screaming out “f*ck f*ggots”
catch me in my attic taking photos of my dad’s d*ck
drop the beat here to make it extra climactic
[outro: dr. tc]
what the f*ck?
i… i’m speechless, that was… f*ck
sh*t, tyler, you’re gonna need some help
i’m not a… f*ck it, different subject
how’s that girl you were telling me about?

- tyler the creator lyrics

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