Tyler, The Creator – Seven Lyrics

I’d tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders
I give a fuck like a quarter with 20 cent
At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxing at Happy Camper
It’s the fucking (financial aid) at Hamptons wasn’t relaxing, I’m taxing
« Fuck ’em all! »‘s what I’m chanting, don’t complain, I’m just ranting
Fuck ranking, I’m the best, I’m the champion’s chariot
I’m a liar like Carrey in Liar Liar
I’m dirtier than the sheets in the Marriott, cable guy like Larry
Peter Pan in my youth, fucking fairies (Fucking fairies)
I’m using my tooth bait to get that bitch teeth paste
Fuck it, Odd Future some Nazis (Nazis), black Nazis don’t copy (Copy)
We perfect, you sloppy (Sloppy), hotter than Saki Takei (Takei)
Fuck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet
Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett (Bitch)
Hang with thrashers and jackers, drug dealers and crackers
AP students and slackers, I’m backwards
Like Jermaine Dupri in ’93, escaping from concentration camps
With a fucking girl board and a ramp
That I ordered from CCS with some diamonds that’s VVS
Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress (Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress, bitch)
With some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny
Sup on my hat like that motherfucker friendly
White red-headed bitch reminded me of Annie
She dino like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me (Yup)
Fuck You Bunch is here, never disrespect my family
That’s for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie (Auntie)
Wasted fucking youth? All you old niggas antiques
We go skate, rape sluts and eat donuts from Randy
Bitches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy (Watching Billy and Mandy)
Motherfuckers wanna be Odd but you can’t be (Can’t be, heh)
Sit the fuck down all you old niggas stand me, faggot (Faggot, ayy)
I guess I got to be a fucking hand-me-down rapper
From Los Ange’ area anytime I’m fucking landing
Fuck (Fuck) 2DopeBoyz and NahRight
Shoutout (Shoutout) to Hype Trak, them motherfuckers could never get rid of me
Guess I gotta do a fucking song with Dom Kennedy
Get these fucking hip hop bloggers to start feeling me
Because I’m seventeen, compose my own beats
Lyrically I’m dope enough to ass-fuck the dude who made nicotine
Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some fucking skinny jeans
And follow in your footsteps like a motherfucking millipede
Centipede, make songs about Gucci and ciga-weed
Jerk with my freshmen like it’s some motherfucking little league
No, I’m not no fucking hipster, mister
No, I’m not no fucking Kid Cudi, all my fucking fans love me
Collaboration hits for fans screaming fuck buddies (Fuck buddies, O-F)
Yo, yo
I’m driving in a stolen truck, and I’m probably fucking drunk
Wasted as fuck, can’t walk it out, DJ Unk (Uh!)
My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked
(Shut the fuck up!) Who the fuck told me not to spoke? (Me)
Fuck everybody here, everybody vanished
I’m managed, hop off my dick and make a fucking sandwich
Everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish
(You know what? Fuck you) Fuck you (Shit), faggot (Fucking bastard)

Hahaha, yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record
I was, I was probably angry, probably on my period
But um, I didn’t mean to offend anyone
Alright, I’m lying