[Hook: Tyler, The Creator & 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘴]
𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘹
Fuck, fuck, fuck
Fuck, fuck, fuck

[Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator]
Every car retarded, the garage look like a loony bin
What coupe he in? Depends on the 'fit and the type of mood he in (Ugh)
I been switchin' gears since Tracee Ellis Ross was UPN
Clutch, then he stroke outta nowhere like a droopy grin (Ugh)
Huh, took that Grammy home, couldn't lose again
The suit was so sharp that it could get Medusa coochie trimmed (Ugh)
Hov talkin' 'bout a hundred million, n***a, loop me in
Like who that young, rich, handsome n***a with the gooey skin? (Ugh)
Mama named him Tyler and his brothers call him T
And the bank, they call him when that wire clear like season three or somethin' (Ugh)
Skateboard named him Bunnyhop, it's Baudelaire or Wolfie, though
The felines named him hour for how long he eat the— (Pussy) wait a minute (Ugh)
Pink loafers scuff quickly, Fiat cost a buck sixty
I'll keep it a buck fifty, y'all can't really fuck with me (Ugh)
Bitch, I got the fuzz and I'ma own it 'til they bury him
Only twenty-nine, but I've been focused since thirty M (Ugh)

[Hook: Tyler, The Creator]
Fuck, fuck, fuck
[Verse 2: Kanye West]
Lifelike, this is what your life like, try to live your life right
People really know you, push your buttons like typewrite
This is like a movie, but it's really very lifelike
Every single night, right, every single fight, right?
I was looking at the 'Gram and I don't even like likes
I was screamin' at my dad, he told me, "It ain't Christ-like"
I was screamin' at the referee just like Mike
Lookin' for a bright light, Sigel, what your life like
Riding on a white bike, feeling like Excitebike
Pressin' on the gas, supernova for a night light
Screamin' at my dad and he told me, "It ain't Christ-like"

[Hook: Tyler, The Creator]
Fuck, fuck, fuck

[Verse 3: Kendrick Lamar]
I recognize your fragrance
Hold up, you ain't never gotta say shit
Uh, and I know your taste is
A little bit, hmm, high maintenance
Uh, everybody else basic
You live life on an everyday basis
With poetic justice, poetic justice
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room
Would you trust it?
I mean, I write poems in these songs dedicated to you when
You're in the mood for empathy, there's blood in my pen
Better yet, where your friends and 'em?
I really wanna know you all
I really wanna show you off
Fuck that, pour up plenty of champagne
Cold nights when you curse this name
You called up your girlfriends
And y'all curled in that little bitty Range
I heard that she wanna go and party, she wanna go and party
N***a, don't approach her with that Atari
N***a, that ain't good game, homie, sorry
They say conversation rule a nation, I can tell
But I could never right my wrongs
'Less I write it down for real, P.S
[Hook: Tyler, The Creator]
Fuck, fuck, fuck