Video On The Radar Cypher de Tyler The Creator 2024 Rap Lyrics

Tyler The Creator - On The Radar Cypher Lyrics

[Part I: Viva La Vida - Goldwood]

[Verse]
I don't talk for free
That he say, she say, never got to me
I smoke a block of weed and treat the freeway like it's Rocket League
They jacked that they with me, but all they actions say they fake
You can drop me in the league, I'm finna average twenty eight
Hey, every spot got baddies in it
Beat the beat like Paddy Pimblett
Afghan kush, I'm smokin' packs with that Iraqi pigment
Rappin' for that bag enrichment
Wacky bitch, her fatty different
Cleveland shorty suck me while that bitch from Cincinnati licked it
Swervin' in the whip, hurt the rims on a pothole
These bitches hit my phone, you got no hoes like Johnny Bravo
Y'all watchin' my pockets, want what I got, this cheese not yours
Withdrew the GDP of Fiji, shut down Wells Fargo
I stay with weird lookin' naked bitches like Picasso
My life is backyard sports and I'm the MVP like Pablo
More chips and cheese than Costco, pockets packed with pounds of nachos
I'm known around the globe, I rock from Moscow to Chicago
Yeah, act uncouth, my coupe incomprehensible
You expendable, boy, all my bitches been in centerfolds
Dreamin' skeptical but now my pockets green like vegetables
You rappers move identical, but actin' asymmetrical
Ya see me at the mall, and start to screamin', "Get the camera, Dad"
I smoke this stank, leave a bank, with more green than Bruce Banner had
Bitches shiesty, roll the dice, I'm icey like Zibanejad
I ran a bag up bad, I'm droppin' bombs like Ahmadinejad
Family Incredibles, whole gang untouchable
Watch how you maneuver now I'm seein' how a sucker moves
Walk into the party, clutchin' more bread than Uncrustables
Drop a couple doubles, write the whips off as deductibles
[Part II: Redbone - YGB]

[Part III: Die Young - LOSTBOYBK]

[Intro]
Ayy
Ayy, come on man
Lunchboy
Ayy, ayy, ayy
I bought a brand new chop and it came with a drum
Ayy, ayy
Come on man, ayy, ayy

[Verse]
All these niggas be actin' like hoes
I never do laundry, don't know how to fold
I'm still dissin' the niggas that crossed me
They say that I'm crazy, but talkin' to ghosts
Give a fuck what a fuck nigga on
Kick a bitch out, then I'm yellin, "Go"
Man, your ho got my dick in her choke
I'm the reason that she change the lock on her phone
Cross my arms like G Herbo, I'm cold
Pockets fat like I'm missin' a tope
I rock friends 'cause like names on a bullet
Won't let that shit miss or go over your dome
I'm aware of the niggas that hate me
I'm rappin' up now, but just like I'm Slick Rick
Tell my niggas pull up to your pole with a rocket
They want it? Come swim with a big fish
My bitch foreign, she only speak German
The first time I met her it started with, "Ich bin"
My boy stabbin', they got out the cage
Just to pick up the mic, like, I'm like a big spade
[Outro]
Come on, man
Come on, man, stop playin' with me

[Part IIII: Oldie - Max Gertler]