text: Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!
  They say Ive calmed down since the last album
  Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Ummm
  Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
  And I dont give a shit, bend my rectum
  Somebody said bands make her dance
  You think youre getting cash, no bitch, youre dumb
  The only thing that youre gonna get is this dick
  Wait turn this up, bitch, this my jam 
  Here, take a goddamn picture
  And tell Spike Lee hes a goddamn nig​ger
  And while youre at it, pass the lotion
  And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun
  Before I cum, I call 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 yall so salty? Hot tamale is on
  A can of beans, bitch, Im 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 hes tripping off my sneak dissing
  Then he has to deal with me and my minions
  Tryna get a bimmer, E46
  Have you heard 48? Motherfucker, Im great 
  Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
  From cuts for the Biebs, cause hes puffin the trees, please
  Fuck I look like? Got a new bike
  Tire never pop like the puss on a butch dyke
  Think I give a fuck, I do go raw
  Then I bust in her jaw like 
  My urethra, hole that I pee from
  Bigger than the obese neck on Aretha
  Now turn that snare down
  Im back like Im Rosa Parks fare on the same damn bus
  Like, Youre going to jail now
  Tamale! Tamale! Tamale! Tamale!
  Why yall so salty? Hot tamale is on
  A can of beans, bitch, Im on
  Your boy is bad to the bone
  How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
  If a woodchuck could ever give a fuck?
  Bitch suck dick, motherfuck you and your opinions
   Yes, I can sir, where the lump is
  Sicker than the last bar bold-er, I’m a CO
  Colorado, fuck Michael, bitch, 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, no, fuck you, na, na, na, na, na, na!
  Why yall so salty? Hot tamale is on
  A can of beans, bitch, Im on
  Your boy is bad to the bone
  How many fags can a lightbulb screw?
  Well if it has a dick, maybe two or six
  And tell the NRA Im about to lose my shit
  And shoot through Wayne LaPierres hair with a crucifix
  How many ladies in the house?
  How many ladies in the house without a rich nigga, huh?
  A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin
  Hope my mom dont catch me, tryna set mood
  Little Redtube, fuck lotion, I dont need lube, dry fist suits me 
  Up and down, friction make a fap fap sound
  The shits kind of disgusting
  Fap time and before I flatline
  Clancy chimes in my room and catch me
  This shits so damn embarrassing, like—
  Oh, shit, aw, fuck
  What the fuck?
  Aw, Im sorry
  Is that my shirt?
  Yeah, sorry, I needed something
  Clean that shit up, were going to the office!
  Fuck