Cowboy [V1] Tyler, The Creator

[Verse 1]
Knock-knock, mothafucks, it's me, Mr. Clusterfuck
What, when, where, how, like who gives a fuck
Golf Wang M-O-B, mopping niggas ante up
Ain't been this fucking sick since brain cancer ate my Granny up
Rest in peace or lie in it, life ain't got no light in it
Darker than that closet that nigga Frankie was hiding in
Open it, dope in it, Bobby where's my fucking pipe?
Dress my little dick as Ike, twenty says I hit your wife
This is life, truthfully I just want to fly some kites
Grab Salem and Slater and go around, riding bikes
Get some ice cream, Golf Wang Roscoe's for the night
To skate around and do annoying shit that older peeps despise
Nigga, fuck it though, going hard as riga mo
Got a nigga dollars and a couple cracker kids at shows
Cracked a couple kids in the head with this cast
Had a blast out in Europe, had a Swedish bitch licking toes
That's how it goes, designing clothes
Cats on everything, cats on everything
You think all this money will make a happy me?
But I'm 'bout as lonely as crackers that supermodels eat
Everybody's sparking but me, and I keep coughing
Can't keep calm in this spot's hot box and I'm getting nauseous
Hop in the car, ride to Saugus, and head straight to the office
Pissed off at Jasper because that's some faggot shit called "Pink Dolphin"
I roll here on a mean unicorn
Green hat, Vans, Golf top is the team uniform
Downing that Capri Sun, tighten my bandana up
Something like a lez, I'm forgetting my damn manners cause