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• Artiste: Tyler The Creator
• Titre: Blow
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if this was a game i already know that i would come out winner and im not braggin imma be in her, but this bitch really think that im 'bout to buy her dinner my steak good i got a good cut like splinter juicy and hot, such a black bitch temper now she wanna talk and chop one up like a blender but don't give a fuck I'll even list her like Schindler she's cute but her foreheads big got stretch marks like she got four kids her legs cant close like the four door hinge bronco that OJ killed the white ho with a wealthy white girl without the facelift lure with expensive dinners and a nice bracelet leave the bitch breathless, but what the bitch dont know is that im a motherfuckin' sellout and a rapist baby your an angel, how 'bout we turn this into a figure of some sort you already know your dead, ironic cause your lipsticks red of course ill stuff you in the trunk, drunk cause all I really wanna do is fuck and snort blow blow if this was a game i would be considered a mother fuckin legend and i aint trying to gas you like chevron but im high as fuck bitch you really need to get on my leverage now were in the cabin in the middle of UHH tryin to find ways to really stuff you with my camera dreamy little bastard, i done ran out of lunch so now its time for a bloody fish you little rabbit your very attractive and notice my hat is always the colour of cactus and i hang with wolves, cause im an evil bastard pictures of you on my wall no glue no tape but just cum plaster met you at my school, departed at my house ended at your panites, started at your blouse push you downstairs i took a nap up on the couch zzzzzzzzzz if you wanted a date dont come now you gotta make it easy for you dont run you call this shit KIDS while i call these kids come and you call this shit rape but i think that rapes fun wait, now its about 8 somthing, its late and you stuck down in my base one come downstair with nothing but a shoestring yeah bitch this dates done baby your an angel, how 'bout we turn this into a figure of some sort you already know your dead, ironic cause your lipsticks red of course ill stuff you in the trunk, drunk cause all I really wanna do is fuck and snort blow blow baby your an angel, how 'bout we turn this into a figure of some sort you already know your dead, ironic cause your lipsticks red of course ill stuff you in the trunk, drunk cause all I really wanna do is fuck and snort blow blow i like my girls how i like my drugs-- white lord, your so pretty lying in my arms i just got one request-- stop breathing