Odd Future ft. Domo Genesis, Tyler, the Creator - Sam (Is Dead) Lyrics

This life is a game, if you wanna play
Then count all your own mistakes
Livin' 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 the problems come with my growing age, blowin' haze
Trying to 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
Searchin' for the Fountain of Youth, when I'm free in my brain

(Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigga with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions

Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)

Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)

They want a story, a story
I write the shit that I find very amusing
'Cause all the other fuckin' 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 will find me on Maury
I'm still a kid in my heart, so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experience and shit I see touring
I'm like a birdman, I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this porn

Nope (Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigga with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, Oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions

Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)

Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)

Five (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Four (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Three (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Two (Erer-erer-erer)
Where's Tyler?

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, shot, body-styled, 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 in my own room now
Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vow
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little nigga trumpet lose sound
Just let him play