text: Im rolling through Ladera in a Bimmer looking cleaner
  Drinking on a blueberry Slurpee, eating that fajita
  My passenger seat is occupied by señorita
  And mother keeps on bugging me about wanting to meet her
  I dont really need her, Im just tryna treat her real nice
  And later on, up in the night, I could go eat her
  And make a lie about the gonorrhea
  So she dont feel guilty about me wanting to leave her
  That FUCK on my t-shirt print is cheetah
  And I got that 87 bunny flow, like an Easter
  Basket, you faggots is plastic, like nerds with old glasses
  But Im still liable to get my ass kicked
  Kinda sorta active, a Baby Milo addict in the attic
  Where you losers cant get me
  Nikon and the Canon, they were never the same
  And please do not take a picture, I cant be seen with you lames
  Man, yall some muthafuckin lames
  Man, yall some muthafuckin lames
  Dont lie to yourself, yall some lames
  Man, yall some l— fuckin lames
  The Canon dont flash, yall some lames
  I cannot be seen with you lames
  You mothafuckas is— lames
  Ahem
  Tyler, the Creator
  Ugh
  Cant stop, fall, flashing, like a cop car
  Me and— , no Rockwell, Im a rock star
  Fuck yall, the O.F. is banging on em
  Custom crewnecks rolling round with Ronald Regan on em 
  Yall drug dealers, I Carl Sagan on em
  Chop and screw Nas tracks, I got pianos waiting on em
  My shirt is yellow, but the grill is gold
  I couldnt take the Rit-lin cause my therapist said the pill is old
  I cant stay lost control
  I dont have sense, sorry, I sold my soul
  For some gold Bapes; low-price, stale rate
  Authentic, never fake, check the poll, our statistics
  Stay with authentics, check my steelo
  Cause my mobs goodie like we Cee-Lo, and he know
  I am, yes, and even she know
  Every instrument is a gram, kilo 
  O.F.M.
  Bangin on your F.M.
  Ace the Creator