Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Window, artist - Tyler, The Creator. Album song Goblin, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 08.05.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tyler
Song language: English
Window |
Tyler we ah, I know it’s short notice but I brought all your friends here |
For some reason I couldn’t get a hold of Taco and Jasper |
But, I just brought all your friends to talk to you |
Because, they’re really worried about you |
I thought it would be better if, they could talk to you |
It was all a dream, I used to read Complex magazines |
When I rhyme I’m tryna get pictures in High Times |
Smoke trees and see my dreams hanging in the sky line |
Swanton bomb off the bed into a fine dime |
In my mind I’m just tryna smoke the finest |
And get high sticking bad heinas in vaginas |
I’m the flyest when it come to this, fire when I come to spit |
I am getting higher when the lighter comes in front of this |
I’m a stoner yeah, yeah, yeah you get the picture now |
30 thousand feet gonna make it hard for me to simmer down |
Another flight, another beat, another city, wow |
Thus another couple bitches crying when I kick 'em out |
Where we at? |
We on top of the world |
And five minutes from suicide, I biked it to the park |
I walked onto the block, met a guy, burgundy 'Preme snap-back |
Hurling himself and cars, and flirting with blonde Cadillacs |
All was great, all was great, Frankie had the blues in fact |
Bunch of pale hipster girls, pretty, but they booty flat |
Teenage males, couldn’t tell, I was going through |
And had a wallet full of cream, Amex Green, Beamer almost black |
Parked in front the studio Bastard’s recorded at |
Earl, Gilbert, Tyler, Hodgy, Domo, Left, Taco, Nakel |
Sydney, Lionel, Juan, Michael, Jasper, Hal and Matt |
Bet I’m missing several but I had to bring that pattern back |
We live inside a house that says fuck 'em on the welcome mat |
Deep inside the ear canals of Bill O’Reilly’s daughter that’s |
Where I’m at? |
Now where we at? |
Wolf Gang, where we at? |
Swell motions get promotions, to my whole team |
Hell yeah I smoke weed cause I like to go green |
Professor Beats educates niggas, let me proceed |
Shine chandelier bright mike, if your nose bleeds |
We at Randy’s ordering that 306 |
Milk and glaze is the greed gold mix me |
Your bitch is coming along, yeah she hum to my song |
Singing like they were for her, but they were for the blur |
No longer, but we working, premature, immature |
She’s unsure, I’m for sure, blouse and dress and my shirt |
On the floor then pick it up, out the door, door |
Chased an imaginary friend, a reverie absorption |
Impregnate the dream 'til it has an abortion |
Where we at? |
We on top of the world |
Everything they say I’d never have, I’m seeing |
Now, I bet they see that we balling like All-Star Weekend |
Always been the most cool, they chase our shade |
They say life switches pace when you got shit made |
So I’m just tryna get paid, don’t you remember the days |
When your dreams were the only thing that kept you sane |
And too often they think that they could stop me |
Now every show we makin' half a Maserati |
And the only thing blocking me is paparazzi |
Now it’s gold Rolex’s if they try to clock me |
Everything stays in the box like fighters in hockey |
Miss me if you’re thinking we slack, work hard |
I got the world saying every single Friday is black |
Took your bitch, you ain’t getting her back, cause she know |
Where we at nigga? |
We on top of the world |
Where we at, niggas? |
Where the fuck we at, man? |
You niggas don’t know me, huh |
Where we at? |
Down to fucking Earth, huh, down to fucking Earth, huh |
Fuck everybody, here goes some extra girth Sir |
You fucking critics are making my nerves hurt |
Since I’m saying fuck everybody I guess that I’m a fucking pervert |
My window is a book and I’m a fucking crook |
Stealing phones to call home but the line is off the hook |
My mom ain’t paid the bill, guess I can’t pay it either |
I ain’t signed a fucking deal yet but when I do |
Clancy and Dave are to take a percentages that |
Could pay the whole city’s fucking mortgage |
Hopefully I make a lot porn from touring in fucking Oregon |
From playing piano organs and hopefully I can pay the bill |
Shit is getting real, people begin to feel |
Like I’m changing, but their complaining making big fucking deals |
About some shit, they bitch and pout (Can we get backstage man?) |
No, faggot, it’s sold out (Come on why you holding out |
I though we was boys, without me, you wouldn’t be Tyler the Creator |
You’re from the Derby, I can tell whenever you perform |
A leopard can’t change it’s spots) But I’m a fucking unicorn |
(Whatever man) Look, you can’t stop me, I’m going full monty |
Fuck that, I’m Hitler, everyone’s a fucking Nazi |
Wolf Gi-di-dang you be roaming where the fox be |
And I be where, anybody cares |
I try to preach «Fuck age, live dreams, and have fun» |
(Here's some give a fuck, cake) Oh, maybe I should have some |
(Asshole, have none) How can I wake up on the wrong side |
Of the bed, when I don’t even fucking have one? |
When I’m on that stage I feel important |
A whole fucking assortment of children that’s taking Ritalin |
Because the teacher said that the therapist wasn’t feeling him |
You gotta be fucking kidding me |
At school I was a zero, now I’m every boy’s hero |
And they fear it when they hear it when that little fucker’s reciting my lyrics |
Yeah rebel nigga cheer it, dead parents everywhere |
It’s smelling like teen spirit. |
okay, fuck it, Elvis has left the building |