Tyler, The Creator - Seven lyrics

I'd tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders I give a f** like a quarter with 20 cent At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxin' at Happy Camper It's the f**in' financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxin', I'm taxin' "f** 'em all!" I'm chantin', don't complain I'm just rantin' f** ranking, I'm the best, I'm the champion's chariot I'm a liar like Carrey in "Liar, Liar" I'm dirtier than the sheets in the Marriott, Cable guy like Larry Peter Pan in my youth, f**ing fairies I'm using my tooth bait to get that b**hes teeth paste f** it, Odd Future some nazis, black nazis don't copy We perfect, you sloppy, huddled and slightly tacky f**ing lame on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett Endotherms and jaguars, drug dealers and crackers Able students and slackers I'm backwards like Jermaine Dupri in '93 Escaping from concentration camps with a f**ing girl born in a ramp That I ordered from CCS with some diamonds that's VVS Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress With some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny Sup on my hat like that motherf**er Frannie White, red-headed b**h reminded me of Annie She dyno like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me f** you bunches here, never disrespect my family That's for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie Wasted f**in' youth? All you old n***as antiques We go skate, rape s*uts and eat donuts from Randy b**hes like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy Motherf**ers wanna be Odd but you can't be Sit the f** down all you old n***as stand me, f*ggot I guess I gotta be a f**in' hand-me-down rapper From Los Angee area anytime I'm f**in' landing f** 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track Them motherf**ers could never get rid of me Guess I gotta do a f**ing song with Dom Kennedy Get these f**in' hip hop bloggers to start feelin' me Because I'm seventeen, compose my own beats Lyrically I'm dope enough to a**-f** the dude who made nicotine Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some f**in' skinny jeans And follow in your footsteps like a motherf**in' millipede Centipede, make songs about Gucci and cigaweed Jerk with my friends like it's some motherf**in' little league No I ain't no f**ing hipster, mister No I'm not no f**ing Kid Cudi, all my f**ing fans love me Collaboration hits for fans screaming f** buddies, yo, yo I'm drivin' in a stolen truck, and I'm probably f**in' drunk Wasted as f**, can't walk it out, DJ Unk My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked (Shut the f** up!) Who the f** told me not to spoke? f** everybody here, everybody vanish, I'll manage Hop off my dick and make a f**ing sandwitch Everybody listening can s** my dick in Spanish f** you, f*ggot (f**in' ba*tard) Yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record I was, I was probably angry, probably on my period But um, I didn't mean to offend anyone, alright, I'm lying, OF