On “Tamale,” Tyler shows off his most insane and wacky bars, with references to the eighth song from Wolf “48,” his controversial major label debut, and tons of celebrity references.

In the beginning of the… Read More [Intro: Tallulah]

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

[Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator]

They say I've calmed down since the last album

Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um

Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns

And I don't give a shit, bend my rectum

Somebody said bands make her dance

She thinks you're getting cash, no, bitch, you're dumb

The only thing that you're gonna get is this dick

Wait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam (Where the drums at?)

Here, take a goddamn picture

And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn nig​ger

And while you're at it, pass the lotion

And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun

Before I cum, I call your sister

When she comes over, I take picture

Instantly put it on Instagram

And suplex her off a building if I get banned

(I'm just fucking around)

[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]

Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

Why y'all so salty?

Hot tamale is on

A can of beans, bitch, I'm on

Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator]

Bring back the horns that was played in the beginning

And tell Tony Parker that I found his vision

And if he's tripping off my sneak dissing (Uh)

Then he has to deal with me and my minions

Tryna get a Bimmer, E46

Have you heard "48"? Motherfucker, I'm great (Yeah)

Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves

From cuts for the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please

Fuck I look like? Got a new bike

Tire never pop like the puss on a butch dyke

Think I give a fuck, I do, I go raw

Then I bust in her jaw like (Fuck that disease, bitch!)

My urethra, hole that I pee from

Bigger than the obese neck on Aretha

Now turn that snare down, I'm back like I'm Rosa Parks fare

On the same damn bus like, "You're going to jail now"

[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]

Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

Why y'all so salty?

Hot tamale is on

A can of beans, bitch, I'm on

Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator]

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 is

Sicker than the last bar bold-er, I'm a CO

Colorado, fuck Michael, bitch, I'm badder than my BO

Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo

Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos

[Chorus: Tallulah & Tyler, The Creator]

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 on

A can of beans, bitch, I'm on

Your boy is bad to the bone

[Verse 4: Tyler, The Creator]

How many fags can a lightbulb screw?

Well, if it has a dick, maybe two or six

And tell the NRA I'm 'bout to lose my shit

And shoot through Wayne LaPierre's hair with a crucifix

How 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 mood, little RedTube, fuck lotion

I don't need lube, dry fist suits me (Yeah)

Up and down, friction make a *fap fap* sound

The shit's kind of disgusting, fap time

And before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me

This shit's so damn embarrassing, like—

[Outro: Tyler, The Creator & Christian Clancy]

Oh, shit, aw, fuck

What the fuck?

Aw, I'm sorry

Is that my shirt?

Yeah, I'm sorry, I just wanted some bangs

Clean that shit up, we're going to the office!

Fuck