Sam (Is Dead) - Odd Future, Domo Genesis, Tyler, The Creator

This life is a game if you wanna play, counting all your old 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 comin' 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 gold and let desire rekindle the flame

Searching for the Fountain of Youth when I’m freein' my brain

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

Motherfuck 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

(Niggas!)

Your left, your left, your left, right left

(Niggas is 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 of they 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

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

Motherfuck 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

(Niggas!)

Your left, your left, your left, right left

(Niggas is coming!)

Your left, your left, your left, right left

5, 4, 3, 2, and 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, 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