Correction Paroles Suicidal Thoughts par Tyler, The Creator

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Paroles

When I die, f**k it, I wanna go to hell
Cause I’m a piece of sh*t, it ain’t that hard to f**kin’ tell
Blogs say I’m the sh*t, but I can’t detect the smell
Haven’t tried to be successful, cause I’m afraid to fail
Wearing all yellow, now I'm praying to the Devil
And I dig my own ditch and I brought my own shovel
Carvings on my arms, f**k lame on my wrists
And nobody gave a f**k, I thought Sarah would give a hint
F**k Commercial, my show would never be a hit
But I had dreams of being able to f**k every b*t*h
That could breathe, that got knees, with a t***, I myself
F**k a chain, f**k swag, f**k a prop, period
Make my own rules, f**k a cop
You n***as with these one-sighted visions, cyclops over my blocks bridging
St**ching up Sarah name like it was my cling to fame
In retrospect, O.F. is a f**king game
We terrorizing old folks, smoke, skates, rape sl*ts that chew d**k
Run around, grab a new inhaler like I’m not sick
But I’m not b*t*h, counselors tell me all my issues like I’m not it
Demented, in my own dimension
Couple “F**k you”’s and donuts is my division
Chopping up my wrist with incisions, no second decisions
Creator of sh*t with no inventions, look
Tryna get the heavens to listen, but I can’t
Because I’m my own f**kin’ religion
And they think I’m tryna be different
But I don’t give a sh*t like sitting down p*ssing
I’m a black panther in white skin, like a lesbian who like men
F**k friends, I don’t even know how to begin
Well this is the beginning of new ends

Fin

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