lirik lagu tyler, the creator - raw freestyle
[verse 1]
yeah, yeah
uh, they, f-ck
uh, yeah
they ask me if i’m tyler, the nasty
n-gga that used to be in seventh grade watching degr-ssi
but yall n-ggas and your whips with your rims and your hat with the brims rolling right past me
but i could give a f-ck less about what you doing
who you scr-w-ng, who you booing
i got these b-tches brewing in my gold pots
you could see the rolex, the gold watch
see them gold (?) but you won’t stop
i’m in that bape sh-t, or that bathing ape sh-t
that sh-t that make you my superman hoodie is cape sh-t
you on that fake sh-t, that true religion, abercrombie, ‘postale, n-gga my t-shirt is pastel
my n-gga i p-ss well
well p-ssed, and i p-ss that f-cking cl-ss well
and when your b-tch see me, she be like “oh my gosh, your so (?), man you’re so swell”
like i’m so swole, this bape sh-t is so old, older than the ice cream shoes i have that’s growing mold
and they say “ace, you’re g*nius” i say “i play piano, make songs, a big p-n-s”
cause when i have 2, listen to neptune sh-t, i’m never mars or venus, you seen this
my 3d gl-sses still the cleanest, enis, -n-s, n-gga you could paint this is a m-th- f-cking bush
all you n-ggas running but i’m still not in a rush and i’m winning
no races, but i’m grinning
don’t believe in god, but i’m sinning
he-man and she-man and he-man confused than
yall want the rims, but i’m still chilling in the m-th- f-cking mini-van like
what it do, what it do, f-ck you, and your crew, of to the death, nah
yall know i do bail, yall rep yall set until the death n-gga this of until, until
and n-gga thats real, and n-gga i’m raw, i’m bigger than my boss the cold 86 degrees heat on need with your b-tch screaming out my name gagging on her knees
and n-gga i’m reed, eating m-th- f-cking ice cream reese’s pieces
n-gga i’m the (?) i’m the sh-t, you could call me ace, the creator a.k.a. feces
i’m eating like a feces
[interlude]
what the f-ck is my problem!
i’m a let this one ride out tho
i’m a let the keys f-ck with the drums
a.c.e, ofm, bangin’ on your fm, yes
it was all a dream, now i got my own magazine, word up
i’m out, peace
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