Tyler, The Creator:
Me and Slater just hit a curb
Bunny hop, zoning out, listening to N.E.R.D
Made a couple thousands turds spitting written verbs
Shit, now I kick it in the 'burbs

Me? I'm from the slums, niggas who push a ton
Ton of drums, with foul flow dirty mouth like kissing bums
Mama done made her one Uh, a witty son
With no respect for women so show me your titties hun
"You eighteen?", Me? I'm twenty something
Okay I'm twenty, but I'm soon to be twenty-one
I wild out at shows, break shit -- it should be fun
Venues are like pussy with me, "Should he come?"
I'mma wax that like the Chapstick in my backpack, for my black lips
Then dip to Europe and come back with a stack of cheese
A stack of cheese for these rats, Mac and Cheese
New Preme shit got me feeling flyer than a bag of bees
Fuck critics, (how's your dick?), "Shit, how's your knees?"
Y'all on my dick more than my index when I take a pee
Came up with ''Rella'', ain't touch a bag of weed
Shit was doper than Whitney Houston's needs
Golf Wang, that's the team to be, "Aye!", getting TU, OF, indeed
We was missing Sweatshirt like, where's the hooded sleeve
Okay, nevermind, we found him

Guess I win, checks started cashing in
I stop rapping and start asking where my fucking passion is
Probably where that faggot went (who?), Tyler talking father problems
Shocking shit he spit to popping topics in them gossip columns
I ain't ask for this, I did it out of boredom
Thought the roach was cool, he died and pushed me into stardom
Now Ye's PJ sipping leche, Chips Ahoy! boy, listening to Cowboy
Aye boy, land in Melbourne and skate to Fitzroy (Aye!)
AUS was AWES, I enjoyed, boy, y'all niggas played as a tot's toy
Have a good day as I annoy, oi

Cameras with panorama views
My shoes have seen more vans than Mexicanas with crackers in Alabama
G-O-to the-L-F, this O-F, I opened up a store so I don't stress
But nigga I, (what?), mosh in gardens, jazz punk shit
Playing chords, making up shit, pardon my Dolly Parton's
And I keep sharting, hoodies with rectangles and different colors
Niggers think I started kindergarten

My bitch is on my handle bars (I just wanna ride my bike)
Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater
My bitch is on my handle bars
Hair blowing in the wind
Her freckles look like candy bars
Hair blowing in the wind

My bitch is on my handle bars (I just wanna ride my bike)
Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater
My bitch is on my handle bars
Hair blowing in the wind
Her freckles look like candy bars
My cool summer never ends

Slater, Slater, Slater, Slater

Oh my God, seriously?
Mister cool guy
You're talking to a fucking bike, loser
(Ha ha) Oh fuck