Текст песни SMUCKERS (Tyler, The Creator) с переводом

For your boy

I’m watchin' Freaks and Geeks

With the trampoline on the floor

I’m tryna' cop the new McLaren

With the vertical doors, nigga

Money, money, money, money

Money ain’t the motive

What’s your name again? Nobody knows it

Don’t speak to me nigga, you not impo’tant

I’m focused (2, 3, 4)

Bring in the horns

They say I’m nutty, I’m picnic basket

I’m short of a sandwich, I’m peanut butter

Boyce Watkin’s a faggot, please come and get me

Said I suck him at your neck like a hickey, boy, I’m sicky

Like a HIV victim, ain’t nobody fuckin' wit me

I got banned from New Zealand, Whitey called me a demon

And a terrorist, goddammit, I couldn’t believe in it

Ban a kid from a country, I never fall, never timber

But you fucked up as a parent, your child idol’s a nigga

I clearly don’t give a fuck so you could run that shit back

And fuck your loud pack and fuck your Snapchat

Cherry Bomb

The greatest fuckin' album since the days of sound

And that shit gon' pop

Just like that nigga that was never 'round

Damn, bout to drop, gas 'em up, thick exhaust

Young T, came quick, hard to beat, dick is soft

We ain’t lyin', we the truth, call him Simba, beats his hooves

Tyler, The Creator sweatin' Jesus juice

Put that fuckin' cow on my level, 'cause I’m raisin' the stakes

Mom, I made you a promise, it’s no more section 8

When we ate its the steaks, now our section is great

'Cause that’s the level I’m at, my niggas pass 'em a plate

'Ye!

Why, oh why, why, why don’t they like me?

Cause Nike gave a lot of niggas checks

But I’m the only nigga to ever check Nike

Richer than white people with black kids

Scarier than black people with ideas

Nobody can tell me where I’m headin'

But I feel like Michael Jordan

Scottie Pippen at my weddin'

They say I’m crazy, but that’s the best thing goin' for me

You can’t Lynch Marshawn if Tom Brady throwin' to me

I made a million mistakes, but I’m successful in spite of 'em

I believe you like a fat trainer takin a bite or somethin'

I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds

I dreamt of 2Pac, he asked me «Are you still down?»

Yeah, my nigga, it’s on, it’s on, it’s on, it’s on

I know they tell they white daughters

«Don't bring home Jerome»

I am the free nigga archetype

I am the light and the beacon

You can ask the deacon

It’s funny, when you get extra money

Every joke you tell just be extra funny

I mean, you can even dress extra bummy

Cocaine, bathroom break, nose extra runny

And I gave you all I got, you still want extra from me

Oxford want a full-blown lecture from me

And the Lexus pull up, errr, like hop, I hopped out, like wassup?

Err-err-err, step back, hold up, my nigga, you suck, hold up

I studied the proportions

Emotions runnin' at a Autobahn speed-level

Had a drink with Fear, and I was textin' God

He said, «I gave you a big dick, so go extra hard»

For your boy

I’m tryna' cop the new McLaren

With the vertical doors

I’m watchin' Freak and Geeks

Got a trampoline in my room, damn

Hold your fuckin' horses

Niggas really fuckin' thought that T lost it

Like I bet it at a auction

Been exhausted

I been workin'

While y’all silly bros smoke like broken exhaust tips

Fuckin losers

Hold your fuckin' ponies my homie

I’ll whip your donkey by my lonely

I eat pussy like Shoney’s (Yeah)

It’s Tunechi, homie, master of ceremonies

I knock 'em down, domino effect, no pepperoni

I swear

This them Golf boys, like them Hot Boy$

For the nine-nine and two-thousand

But its the two-thou'

And the one-four

And the one-five

Yo, what up Wayne?

(What up Slime, nigga go hard)

Yeah, I’mma go hard like before 'caine

Got too much drive, need like ten lanes

Life is a broad, and she give brain

That’s that road head (yeah)

That’s a dream car

Got a full tank of that same year I was born

That’s that one-nine-nine-one

'Nother nigga like I, you won’t find one

Cuz nigga I’m a god, a divine one

Tune

My trigger finger wise

But my 9 dumb (yeah)

Middle finger blind

So it’s fuck A-N-Y-one

Fuck, skate, and die son

A hundred ways to die son

I’m starin' at a tramp-on-lean

Make my eye jump

Use Adderall like alarm clocks

Wake my high up

Stakes are high, well done, and prime cut; eat up

I stick my Rolie in her mouth, let the time come

She got hair like Sheneneh, and eyes like Wanda

Oh my goodness

Wayne, them bitches ugly

These niggas colder than Tommy' buddy

Ye, we hittin' models

Like Tony Parker be hittin' bottles

Bitch, I’m goin' harder than yellow cabbies stoppin' for Lionel

(Black ass nigga)

They be duckin' us niggas, shout out to Donald Sterling

Boy, lets get a scrimmage

And cut some niggas

I’ll bring the Clippers

And a couple owners that’s kinda German

You bring the nooses

And a couple trees, where the money grow

And get bodies burnin

Cause I’m tryna' hang like I’m Mr. Cooper

Or Jews in Berlin

Or some niggas from Alabama, Birmingham

My new music’s all over the street like Erick Sermon, was

Fuck us

Maybe we should team up

Anti-Golf boys

Cuz I don’t fuck with me either

I’m a liar, I’m a faggot, uhh.

Son you need Jesus

But I heard he left Sunset, to go on tour with Yeezus

Well, I’m prayin' for the new Yeezys

And you pussies prayin' that we squash the beef

Like zucchini

I know; it ain’t gain, nor fame, nor tame

Or lame, nor strange

Nah faggot, it’s Golf Wang