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Tamale

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Lyrics
Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

They say I've calmed down since the last album

Well, lick my d**k, how does that sound? (Umm)

Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns

And I don't give a s**t, bend my rectum

Somebody said bands make her dance

You think you're getting cash, no b**h, you're dumb

The only thing that you're gonna get is this d**k

Wait turn this up, b**h, this my jam, (Where the drums at?)

Here, take a goddamn picture

And tell Spike Lee he's a goddamn n**r

And while you're at it, pass the lotion

And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun

Before I come, I'm calling your sister

When she comes over, I take picture

Instantly put it on Instagram and suplex her off a building if I get banned

Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

Why y'all so salty, Hot Tamale is on

A can of beans b**h I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone

Bring back the horns that was played in the beginning

And tell Tony Parker that I found his vision

And if he's tripping off my sneak dissing

Then he has to deal with me and my minions

Tryna get a bimmer, E46

Have you heard 48, m**a I'm great

Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves

From cuts from the Biebs, cause he's puffin' the trees, please

F**k I look like? Got a new bike tire

Never popped like the p**y on a b**h dyke

Think I give a f**k, I do, I go balls

And I bust in her jaw like (F**k that disease!)

My urethra, hole that I p**e from

Bigger than an obese snack on Aretha

Now, turn that snare down

I'm back like I'm Rosa Parks fare on the same damn bus

Like "You're going to jail now!"

Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!

Why y'all so salty, Hot Tamale is on

A can of beans b**h I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?

If a woodchuck could ever give a f**k?

B**h Suck D**k, m**k you and your opinions, (can you kick it?)

Yes I can sir

Where the lump is sicker than the last bar bold-er

I'm a CO f**k Michael b**h I'm badder than my BO

Find me and lance tryna dance during chemo

Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos

Yeah Buddy, this is my jam, Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!

Golf Wang, Golf Wang, Go F**k You, Na Na Na Na Na Na!

Why y'all so salty, Hot Tamale is on

Can't agree? b**h im on

Your boy is bad to the bone

How many fags can a lightbulb screw?

Well if I has a d**k, they be two's and sixes

And tell the NRA I'm about to lose my s**t

Shoot through Wayne LaPierre's hair with a crucifix

How many ladies in the house?

How many ladies in the house without a rich n**a, huh?

A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin'

Hope my Mom don't catch me, tryna set mood

Little Redtube, f**k lotion, I don't need lube, dryfit suits me

Up and down, friction with the sound, s**t's kind of disgusting

F**p time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me

This s**t's so damn embarrassing like

Wolf: Oh s**t, aw f**k

Clancy: What the f**k!

Wolf: Aw, I'm sorry

Clancy: Is that my shirt?

Wolf: Yeah sorry I needed something

Clancy: Clean that s**t up, we're going to the office!