Tamale

Lyrics for Tamale

Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale! They say I've calmed down since the last album Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns And I don't give a shit, bend my rectum Somebody said bands make her dance You think you're getting cash, no bitch, you're dumb The only thing that you're gonna get is this dick Wait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam (where the drums at?) Here, take a goddamn picture And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn nigger And while you're at it, pass the lotion And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun Before I cum, 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 Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale! Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans bitch I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone 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 Then he has to deal with me and my minions Tryna get a Bimmer, E46 Have you heard 48? Motherfucker I'm great Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves From cuts from the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please Fuck I look like? Got a new bike tire Never popped like the pussy on a bitch dyke Think I give a fuck, I do, I go balls Then I bust in her jaw like (fuck that disease) 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!" Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans bitch I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone How much wood could a woodchuck chuck? If a woodchuck could ever give a fuck? Bitch suck dick, motherfuck 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, fuck Michael, bitch I'm badder than my BO Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos Yeah buddy, this is my jam, na na na na na Golf Wang, Golf Wang, no fuck you, na na na na na Why y'all so salty? Hot tamale is on A can of beans bitch, I'm on Your boy is bad to the bone How many fags can a lightbulb screw? Well if it has a dick, maybe two or six And tell the NRA I'm about to lose my shit 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 nigga, huh? A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin' Hope my mom don't catch me, tryna set mood Little RedTube, fuck lotion, I don't need lube, dry fist suits me Up and down, friction make a sound, shit's kind of disgusting Fap time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me This shit's so damn embarrassing like- Oh shit, aw (fuck) What the fuck! Aw, I'm sorry Is that my shirt? Yeah, I'm sorry I just wanted some bangs Clean that shit up, we're going to the office Aw, fuck