Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Inglorious, artist - Tyler, The Creator. Album song Bastard, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 08.12.2014
Record label: F.M.F. Entertainment
Song language: English
Inglorious |
My father died the day I came outta my mother’s hole |
And left the burden on my soul until I was old enough |
To understand that the fuckin’faggot didn’t like me much |
He loved my moms enough to bust a nut and then he shake Junt |
Bringin’pops to school today for twelve years I cheated |
Told the fuckin’faculty that he was at a meeting and |
Bring that dude to life then he wasn’t at the meeting |
Made a U-turn on the weather like the fuck am I thinking |
Birthdays, Christmas my only fucking wishlish was CD’s |
And a new fitted instead I got some CD’s |
I hated, some Ritalin, some white socks |
I was hyper cause I didn’t get attention from my real pops |
Cops say I’m supposed to be in jail but they don’t know it’s me Statistics say that niggas with no father ain’t go be shit |
Well I guess I had one because nigga I’m it You smell that? |
that’s the odor of success bitch |
I know I’m not the only bastard, in America |
So I’m gonna need some help, on this next part, scream it with me niggas |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I graduated) |
Without you (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Nigga eighteen (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Got a car nigga (Fuck you) |
Eat a dick nigga, bitch |
Father’s Day was the worst when it came to gifts |
Cause I ain’t know for who or what the fuck to get |
Now my momma mentioned the day before she would like |
Cause she’s playin’both roles like her occupation was dyke, fuckin’right |
I ain’t look up to Obama and Nixon, I looked up to the Hugo’s and Dixon’s |
The niggas in the vision rap about the shit they cookin’in the kitchen |
Pushin’keys like them niggas that were bangin’on the Keynes |
He bought me hoodie a couple albums |
Like that’s gonna make up the years and the tears |
And the money that my momma spent on rent and clothes |
You fuckin’dicked out, I swear to God if I see you |
I’mma get out the M-16 and let a fuckin’clip out |
Cause in 16 years, you let your kid down the existence, none |
I don’t give a fuck either like father like son I’m done |
He ain’t give a fuck about me He ain’t give a fuck about you |
He ain’t give a fuck about we So what the fuck we gon’do? |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I graduated) |
Without you (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Nigga eighteen (I'm good) |
Fuck you (I'm good) |
Got a car nigga (Fuck you) |
Eat a dick nigga, bitch |
The cold is nice, and I ain’t talkin''bout the weather |
The skin is thick, no need for leather, your father called |
He said you’re better without him, I’m not the only fuck |
Without them, how to tie a tie and how to get your suit hemmed up Take it to the shop, then what? |
Fuck it, mommas proud of her asmatic thin fuck |
Luck on my brim Supreme keeps me warm |
When the cold blood swarms in my veins, fuck rain in the summer |
The bummer is the fact that I’m black |
And I hang with white neos who’s nero stays frio |
Now this consulor is tryna tell me that I’m emo, she don’t give a fuck |
D-low where’s the trigger, I’ll let this bullet play hero |