Besedila: Tyler The Creator. Blow.

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