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Song Title

Tyler, The Creator - Cult Shit Lyrics

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Tyler, The Creator – Cult Shit Lyrics 

I’m recordin this shit on the fuckin little mic
by the little, camera thing on the fuckin Macbook so…
This shit is choppy and bad quality, but fuck it
Wolf Gang, Ace Creator..

Somebody tell Justin Beiber that I’m fuckin comin
Ain’t no point in runnin, I’m an eager, just a little queeger
So I catch him stretchin, have him guessin where his cracker throat
Chop his balls off and use his skin to make a baby coat
Ain’t he dope? No, (OH!) he the same as shit that Tyler wrote
This is Ace, Wolf is in the back with Travis snortin coke
Riley’s here, Connie’s dead, pickin pussy pissin pike
She won’t leave, dick as big as Kelly Price’s appetite
Apprehend a couple men, triple six is fuckin sin
Make Queen Latifah and Sydney go slap a couple dykes
Wrap around until they hit the ground and they hear a sound
that doesn’t make sense like nigger kids wearin cap and gowns
This my album, and when your parents try to come around
Do the FUCKIN’ exact opposite of turnin it down
And when they try to get parental and start talkin loud
Tell ‘em that you’re from the WOLF GANG and you’re fuckin proud
Then start barkin loud (AH!) ’til the neighbors wanna calm you down
But call the pigs who prol’ly come near in ’bout a half an hour
Tell them that you’re sorry, you’re a cow, took a fuckin shower
But make it in time for shitty re-runs of Rocket Power (okay)
This is the shit that is makin me cynical
The clinical attempts at schizophrenia’s critical
Fuckin voices follow me, emulatin like Twitter roll
O.F. is the coldest thing, and I’m the fuckin general
So when I mention suicide, I’m bein Mr. Literal
Then poke inside nine capsules, FUCK it let’s split a roll
Life is like a phone booth, these pigeons is the fuckin toll
1-800-FUCK-THIS-SHIT…
Seven years old in my heart, so I’m stayin gold
But when I fuckin’ go, Lucifer will prol’ly have my soul
It’s hot down there – FUCK that, bitch I’m hot as coals
Out the microwave, mixed with a bowl of yellow raviol’
Yellow firetruck and Arizona during summertime
in a turtle neck, thermal jeans, spin purple wine
Wolf Gang ‘petein, gon’ live, runnin outta time
..The fuck I give is the same as the next line
[two bars length of silence]
(FUCK EVERYTHING) That’s what my conscience said
Then it bunny-hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance that I had is splattered on cement
Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit…

[Tyler, The Creator – Cult Shit Lyrics]



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