Lyrics

[Intro] Drop it (Yeah) [Verse: Tyler, The Creator] With some blonde bomb blowers, and their bum bomb goers I'm sober, but my niggas bombin' on that lawn mower I'm snortin' white sides, prolly in some white socks Screamin' "Thug Life", Pac gotta find his own box Toy box, I'm in, playing with my toy blocks Conversate with Jason, my imaginary commissary Gold chain, rocks in it, not somehow, I'm rocking it Even pop-locking it, keys open doors Banging out the whores, headphones blamming the Doors, standing in the doorway Zombies in my lobby, skating, playing dead is the hobby Pocket full of deaf, motherfucker, now rob me Cameras on the canopy, donuts where the bandits be Supreme on the top part, Sharpie for the pop art F, Y, B, gang F, U, C, K [Hook: Beth Gibbons of Portishead & (Tyler, The Creator)] But you (You!) can't deny (-Ny!) how I feel (Feel!) (Fuck You Bunch is here, Fuck You Bunch is near) And you (You!) can't decide (-Cide!) for me (Fuck You Bunch is here, Fuck You Bunch is near) [Outro] O.F.M Fuck It