[Intro: Jay-Z]
They don't, paint pictures, they just, trace me

[Verse 1: Tyler, the Creator]
Odd Future, I'm your motherfucking sergeant
N***a, I'm in charge, I fuck with Freshjive
'Cause I get it, no charge
And BBC for the low price, no barging, n***a that's a bargain
Cow-print t-shirt like motherfucking dog
On the motherfucking farm with cockadoodle doodles
I'm making straight bitches pussy wet just like a noodle
And my dick must be dog food to these bitches' poodles
Felines on the free time, I'm tossing bitches' salads
And I'm eating up they croutons, Erica to Milan
We was flying to Milan, was supposed to go to Bangkok
Until she figured out that she don't really like to bang cock
To Soho, Baby Milo so dope
The cocaine flow, n***as spit heat, propane
N***as get the picture, I see, why?
They don't paint pictures, they just trace me

[Hook: Tyler, the Creator & Jay-Z]
My n***a, no hook, and
They don't, paint pictures—
My n***a, no hook, and
They don't, paint pictures—
My n***a, no hook
They don't, paint pictures—
My n***a, no hook
They don't, paint pictures—
No hook
They don't, paint pictures—
Fuck a hook, man
They don't, paint pictures—
Fuck a hook
They don't, paint pictures, they just, trace me
[Verse 2: Tyler, the Creator]
Yo, beside me, nobody likes me
Mainly because I am not a fucking HypeBeast
I think Supreme suck, we nollie all our Nikes
I can wear some Wranglers, with a fucking White T
Doo-rags to match, and I do sag, in fact
My hat is in tact with the Fubu pull over
N***a, you pull over, fuck a Rover Range
And I'm driving a unicorn, plus my bitch is strange
And I'm the only fucking rapper without a chain
With a four-finger ring like I can't spell my fucking name
And I go to Obama rallies screaming out "McCain"
Them ignorant, thrashing motherfuckers is my gang
And the dirty Ladera, I can't forget where I came from
N***a, you don't claim none, from, I am the teacher
White and black bitch like she's a motherfucking zebra
Candies in my pocket, I see you n***as on Easter

[Hook: Tyler, the Creator & Jay-Z]
My n***a, no hook, and
They don't, paint pictures—
My n***a, no hook, and
They don't, paint pictures—
My n***a, no hook
They don't, paint pictures—
No hook, and
They don't, paint pictures—
No hook
They don't, paint pictures—
No hook
They don't, paint pictures—
No hook
They don't, paint pictures, they just, trace me
[Bridge: Tyler, the Creator]
(It's gold) The gold is in the back
(It's gold) The pixels in the front
(It's gold) The beat's a fucking bully
(Go home) The lyric's just a punk, and
(Gold) The pink is in the sky
(That shit's gold) The gold is in my mind
(It's gold) The mind is in my gold
The beat is turning old, so go (Yo—yo)

[Verse 3: Tyler, the Creator]
(Gold) Synthesizer, I'm the mothafucking master
(It's gold) N***a, I'm a bastard, I fuck with chord keys
(Gold) 'Cause the sound lasts longer, bass drum is longer
(It's gold) Than a hi-hat made of plastic, n***a, sound is elastic
(Gold) N***a, you can't bite this, unless you want to bite back
(It's gold) I didn't take my fucking Rit'lin, this is a hype track
(Gold) HypeTrak, that synth, n***a this is sax shit
I had you motherfuckers eating salad like a fat bitch

[Break: Tyler, the Creator]
Gold
Um...
(Aight)
Uh...
Drop it
[Outro: Tyler, the Creator]
Ace the Creator
O.F.M
Banging on your FM
Ace the Creator
Drop the drums, n***a
Thank you to HypeBeast