Lyrics Tron Cat (Live) - Tyler, The Creator

Satan's getting jealous of the wolves
The demons say they preferring us
Books on not giving a fuck, is what they referring us
Wolves I know you heard of us, we're murderous
And young enough to get the fucking priest to come and flirt with us
You niggas rap about fucking bitches and getting head
Instead I rap about fucking bitches and getting heads
While you niggas stacking bread, I can stack a couple dead
Bodies, making red look less of a color more of a hobby
I'm not a rapper nor a rapist nor a racist
I fuck bitches with no permission and tend to hate shit
And brag about the actions in a rhyming pattern matter
Then proceed to sat her down when I go splatter in her chatterbox
Atta boy, Odd Future you're not in our category
Torture with the super soaker at the asian liquor store
This the type of shit that make a Chris Brown want to kick a whore
That make songs about the wet blockers when it rains and pours
(Umbrella) I hate this, screaming fuck patience
Got a nigga shaking like the calmest fucking Haitian
After chronic masturbation, asking where Mary-Kate went
I want to be the reasons why all lesbians hate dick
I make this damn Bullwinkle the red moose
Game of duck-duck-duck tape with a dead goose
She running around this motherfucking dungeon, her legs loose
Until I accidentally get the saw to her head, oops
Victim, victim, honey you're my fifth one
Honey on that topping when I stuff you in my system
Rape a pregnant bitch and tell my friends I had a threesome
You got a fucking death wish, I'm a genie it'll get done