Video tamale lyrics tyler the

Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!

They say I’ve calmed down since the last albumWell, lick my dick, how does that sound? UmSmell my gooch, you could kiss my bunsAnd I don’t give a shit, bend my rectumSomebody said bands make her danceYou think you’re getting cash, no bitch, you’re dumbThe only thing that you’re gonna get is this dickWait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam, (where the drums at?)

Here, take a goddamn pictureAnd tell Spike Lee he’s a goddamn niggerAnd while you’re at it, pass the lotionAnd fapping and Xbox Live, that funBefore I cum, I call your sisterWhen she comes over, I take pictureInstantly 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 onA can of beans, bitch, I’m on, your boy is bad to the bone

Bring back the horns that was played in the beginningAnd tell Tony Parker that I found his visionAnd if he’s tripping off my sneak dissingThen he has to deal with me and my minionsTryna get a Bimmer, E46Have you heard 48? Motherfucka I’m greatGolf Wang prints always cover the sleevesFrom cuts for the Biebs, ’cause he’s puffin’ the trees, please

Fuck I look like? Got a new bike tireNever popped like the pussy on a bitch dykeThink I give a fuck, I do, I go ballsThen I bust in her jaw like (fuck that disease!)My urethra, hole that I pee fromBigger than an obese hanging on ArethaNow, turn that snare downI’m back like I’m Rosa Parks fareOn the same damn bus like: You’re going to jail now!

Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! TamaleWhy y’all so salty? Hot tamale is onA 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 isSicker than the last bar bold-erI’m a CO, Colorado, fuck Michael, bitch I’m badder than my BOFind me and Lance tryna dance during chemoBefore they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos

Yeah buddy, this is my jam, na na na na na na na!Golf Wang, Golf Wang, no fuck you, na na na na na na!Why y’all so salty? Hot tamale is onA can of beans, bitch, I’m onYour boy is bad to the bone

How many fags can a lightbulb screw?Well if it has a dick, maybe two or sixAnd tell the NRA I’m about to lose my shitAnd shoot through Wayne LaPierre’s hair with a crucifixHow 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 moodLittle Redtube, fuck lotion, I don’t need lube, dry fist suits meUp and down, the friction makes a sound, shit’s kind of disgustingFap time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch meThis shit’s so damn embarrassing like-

Oh shit, aw (fuck)What the fuck!?Aw, I’m sorryIs that my shirt?Yeah, I’m sorry, I just wanted some bangsClean that shit up, we’re going to the officeAw, fuck

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Kay Adams