Tyler The Creator – Sam (Is Dead) Lyrics

Produced By: Tyler The Creator
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[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]
This life is a game if you wanna play
Counting all your own mistakes
Living it with no delay
So fast I'm getting growing pains

Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane
I go insane
All these problems come with my growing age

Blowing haze tryna clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain
I don't complain but the kid inside me's feeling so restrained
Gotta stay golden
Let desire rekindle the flame

Searching for the Fountain of Youth
When I'm free in my brain


[Bridge]
Bring in the horns
You hear that fucking brass
That's little boy nigga with the trumpets

Marching with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart
No sleeve but his hand carry muskets

Lurking in the meadows, Oblivion
Mothafuck Geppetto, he's a leader not a puppet
Some professors nuttier than Klump's dick
So think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptions

[Refrain]
Niggas!
Your left, your left, your left, right left
Niggas is coming!
Your left, your left, your left, right left


[Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator]
They want a story - a story
I write the shit that I find very amusing
Cause all the other fucking stories are boring

It's really awkward to know that a bunch of kids do adore me
It's like I fathered these fuckers
So you won't find me on Maury

I'm still a kid in my heart so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experiences and shit I see touring

I'm like a bird when I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this porn
Nope, but

[Bridge + Refrain]

[Interlude]
5, 4, 3, 2, and where's Tyler?

[Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator]
Bottom of the countdown, shit ain't been the same
Since I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow Wow

Now I’m the loud shock value style foul mouth fucker
That your teenage kid likes to bow down
Riding around town in Seattle
With the same shotgun that Kurt used to click-clack, boom-pow

Still suicidal but some assume that I'm cool now
Cause I got a fucking award and my own room now

Nope but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vowel
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little nigga trumpet lose sound, just let him play

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