Tyler, The Creator
Why Lie (10 Million Ways to Die)
[Verse 1]
Why lie? I'll probably die where the dope is
Face down in a pile of roses, right next to where the coke is
Obituaries won’t be in English and make no sense
Or died in the Poconos from overdosing on blowfish
You fuckin' wit a n***a that's dead already
Told the bitch when I’m gone to fuck my team once my head is buried
Dig me up once a year to give me head in the cemetery
Leave her wielded, disclosed, it's-it's a brick in the Ben and Jerrys
Fuck it, you bitch n***as some deadbeats
Spittin', hittin', you hard to base, make n***as legs break
Praying we move the weight in the day like Jenny Craig say
And you make enough to not give a fuck about what the feds take
[Verse 2]
Why lie? I'll probably die where the dope is
Or in between sofa cushions smushed between where remotes live
Divide a four-fifth, 'cause my n***a told me to dope hit
Or die for fucking a n***a sister like Manolo did
You can't hold my dick ’cause it’s too heavy
.45's turn into .50 cals, this a new dessy
Love a bitch with a pussy, butter-soft like a new Peli
With AR’s that go from semi to fully with dual settings, uh
True feelings grow within my melanin
Pussy so good that I swore I would never swear again
Pussy so good that I told her I couldn't bear to sin
Until I got bored with shawty, and felt the need to tell a friend
[Verse 3]
Why lie? I'll probably die where the dope is
Or die because I'm a lion, tryna get from the poachers
Die from using a fork to get Pop-Tarts up out the toaster
Die ’cause somebody lied and told me that Coke was just soda
Die from too many lines, 'cause I swore that my dope was doper
Die like wylin' coyote, got hit with too many boulders
Die 'cause he came from the right, and looked over the wrong shoulder
Or die when fire ignites 'cause I didn't put out the smolder
How I'ma end it? (Whoa, the song of your life)
Both, I could die by suicide and leave such a nice note
Italicize why, pantomime rhythms and tight flows
Just for kicks, I'd write right after fiddin' goodnight, folks