Tamale (Live)

Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!

They say I've calmed down since the last album
Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um
Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
And I don't give a shit, bend my rectum
Somebody said bands make her dance
You think you're getting cash, no bitch, you're dumb
The only thing that you're gonna get is this dick
Wait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam (where the drums at?)

Here, take a goddamn picture
And tell Spike Lee, he's a goddamn nigga
And while you're at it, pass the lotion
And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun
Before I cum, 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, bitch, 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 (uh)
Then he has to deal with me and my minions
Tryna get a Bimmer, E46
Have you heard "48"? Motherfucker, I'm great
Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
From cuts from the Biebs, 'cause he's puffin' the trees, please

Fuck I look like? Got a new bike tire
Never popped like the pussy on a bitch dyke
Think I give a fuck, I do, I go raw
Then I bust in her jaw like (fuck that disease!)
My urethra, hole that I pee 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, bitch, I'm on, your boy is bad to the bone