Seven Lyrics - Tyler, The Creator

I'd tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders 

I give a fuck like a quarter with 20 cent 

At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxing at Happy Camper 

It's the fucking financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxing, I'm taxing 

"Fuck 'em all!"'s what I'm chanting, don't complain I'm just ranting 

Fuck ranking, I'm the best, I'm the champion's chariot 

I'm a liar like Carrey in Liar Liar 

I'm dirtier than the sheets in the Marriott, Cable guy like Larry 

Peter Pan in my youth, fucking fairies 

I'm using my tooth bait to get that bitches teeth paste 

Fuck it, Odd Future some Nazis, black Nazis don't copy 

We perfect, you sloppy, hotter than Saki Takei 

Fuck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet 

Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett 

Hang with thrashers and jackers 

Drug dealers and crackers, AP students and slackers 

I'm backwards like Jermaine Dupri in '93 

Escaping from concentration camps with a fucking girl board and a ramp 

That I ordered from CCS with some diamonds that's VVS 

Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress 

With some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny 

Sup on my hat like that motherfucker friendly 

White, red-headed bitch reminded me of Annie 

She dino like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me 

Fuck You Bunch is here, never disrespect my family 

That's for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie 

Wasted fucking youth? All you old niggas antiques 

We go skate, rape sluts and eat donuts from Randy 

Bitches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy 

Motherfuckers wanna be Odd but you can't be 

Sit the fuck down all you old niggas stand me, faggot 

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I guess I got to be a fucking hand-me-down rapper 

From Los Angee area anytime I'm fucking landing 

Fuck 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track 

Them motherfuckers could never get rid of me 

Guess I gotta do a fucking song with Dom Kennedy 

Get these fucking hip hop bloggers to start feeling me 

Because I'm seventeen, compose my own beats 

Lyrically I'm dope enough to ass-fuck the dude who made nicotine 

Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some fucking skinny jeans 

And follow in your footsteps like a motherfucking millipede 

Centipede, make songs about Gucci and ciggaweed 

Jerk with my freshmen like it's some motherfucking little league 

No I'm not no fucking hipster, mister 

No I'm not no fucking Kid Cudi, all my fucking fans love me 

Collaboration hits for fans screaming fuck buddies, yo, yo 

Photos 

I'm driving in a stolen truck, and I'm probably fucking drunk 

Wasted as fuck, can't walk it out, DJ Unk 

My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked 

(Shut the fuck up!) Who the fuck told me not to spoke? 

Fuck everybody here, everybody vanished, I'm managed 

Hop off my dick and make a fucking sandwich 

Everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish 

Fuck you, faggot (fucking bastard) 

Yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record 

I was, I was probably angry, probably on my period 

But um, I didn't mean to offend anyone, alright, I'm lying, OF