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Artist: Odd Future (OFWGKTA) f/ Tyler, the Creator
Album:  The Odd Future Tape
Song:   Fucking Lame
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

[Tyler, the Creator - vocal tone pitched up]
I'm rollin through Ladera in a Beemer lookin cleaner
Drinkin on the blueberry Slurpee, eatin that fajita
My passenger seat is occupied by senorita
And my mother keeps on buggin me about wantin to meet her
I don't really need her, I'm just tryin to treat her real nice
so later on up in the night, I could go beat her
And make a lie about the gonorrhea
So she don't feel guilty about me wantin to leave her
That "fuck" on my t-shirt print is cheetah
And I got that '87 bunny flow like an Easter
Basket, you faggots, is plastic, like nerds with old glasses
But I'm still liable to get my ass kicked
Conned-Sort actors, a Baby Milo addict in the attic
where you losers can't get me
Nikon and the Canon, they were never the same
And please do not take a picture, I can't be seen with you lames

Man, y'all some motherfuckin lames
Man, y'all some motherfuckin lames
Don't lie to yourself, y'all some lames
Man, y'all some motherfuckin lames
The Canon don't flash, y'all some lames
I can not be seen with you lames
You motherfuckers is the lames
(Tyler, the Creator)

[Tyler, the Creator]
Can't stop far, flashin like a cop car
Me and {*children yelling*} rock well, I'm a rock star
Fuck y'all the O.F. is bangin on 'em
Custom crew necks, rollin while we're Ronald Reagan on 'em
Y'all drug dealers, I Carl Sagan on 'em
Chop and screw Nas tracks, I got piano's waitin on 'em
My shirt is yellow, but the grill is gold
I couldn't take the Ritalin cause my therapist said the pill is old
I can't skate, but I guess I lost control
I don't have sense, sorry I sold my soul
for some gold Bapes low-price, stale rate
Authentic, never fake, check the poll, our statistic
Stay with authentics, check my steelo
Cause my +Mob's+ +Goodie+ like we +Cee-Lo+ and he know
I am yes and even she know
Every instrument is a gram, kilo
{*children cheering*}