Lyrics:

'Tamale'
(Feat. Tallulah)

[Verse 1 — Tyler, the Creator:]
They say I've calmed down since the last album
Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? (Umm)
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
In fact, get an Xbox Live, that fun
Before I come, I'm calling your sister
When she comes over, I take picture
Instantly put it on Instagram and suplex her off a building if I get banned
(Just fuckin' around)

[Hook — Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator:]
Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
Why y'all so salty,
Hot tamale is on,
Can of beans bitch 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
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
And I bust in her jaw like (Fuck that disease!)
My urethra, hole that I pee from
Bigger than an obese snack 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!'

[Hook]

[Verse 3 — Tyler, the Creator:]
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,
Boulder on my seal, Colorado
Fuck Michael bitch, I'm badder than my B.O.
Find me a lunch, tryna dance during Kemo.
Before they repossess us, strong arms bands, and tuxedos.

[Hook 2 — Tallulah and Tyler, the Creator:]
Yeah buddy, this is my jam, na na na na na na na!
Golf wang, golf wang, go fuck you, na na na na na na!
Why y'all so salty,
Hot tamale is on
Can of beans bitch I'm on,
Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 4 — Tyler, the Creator:]
How many fags can a light bulb screw?
Well if I has a dick, they be two's and sixes, [?]
NRA bout to lose my shit,
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 Jergins 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, dryfit suits me
Up and down, friction make a sound, shit's kind of disgusting
Fap time and before I flat line, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me
This shit's so damn embarrassing like...

[Outro]
[Wolf:] Oh shit, aw fuck.
[Clancy:] What the fuck!
[Wolf:] Aw, I'm sorry.
[Clancy:] Is that my shirt?
[Wolf:] Yeah sorry I needed something
[Clancy:] Clean that shit up, we're going to the office!