SAFARI Lyrics by Tyler The Creator
The boy record smell like bleach
I can travel where I want
I’m accustomed clearing customs
It ain’t custom, I don’t come
Flee the bird to the truck
I scream “au revoir” to the stewardess
Border control, asking stupid shit
Staying at home, I hate
Runaway love, but I’m no Ludacris
Sipping on mint tea, take my shoes off
Then we take off, then I snooze off
Until island, where I’m foreign
Then I wake up, wipe the drool off
Got my passport in my weekend
I’ma cool off, get a sweet tan
Loafers filled with beach sand
Recline till it’s time to peace sign
Fuck all the chains and cars, get a passport
See the world, open your eyes till your back hurt
N***** get bread and won’t leave, shit is backwards
Start with your feet, then a car, then an airport
Get out your bubble, gum
Blow up horizons, sun
Sled in the Alps or go tube in Missoula
Or tour in Japan, or go scuba in Cuba
Or land in a borough, Jerrod got the brioche
Ciabatta in Como, it matches my peacoat
Oversee the sea, all the things that you could see
Like them languages I speak
Out in Paris for a week
Take my nephews out to Nice
They like “Who?” I’m like, “Oui”
(We on a safari)
Legendary
World-renowned
Globally recognized
Catch us if you can
Are you keeping up?
Once in a lifetime
This what it sounds like when the moon and the sun collide
Speaking matter-of-factly
We’re just light years ahead (You said that it was you I saw)
(With another in my place)
Yeah
Every car retarded, the garage look like a loony bin
What coupe he in? Depends on the fit and the type of mood he in
I been switchin’ gears since Tracee Ellis Ross was UPN
Clutch, then he stroke, outta nowhere like a droopy grin, huh
Took that GRAMMY home, couldn’t lose again
The suit was so sharp that it could get Medusa coochie trimmed
Hov talking ’bout a hundred million, n****, loop me in
Like who that young, rich, handsome n**** with the gooey skin?
Mama named him Tyler, and his brothers call him T
And the bank, they call him when that wire clear like season 3 or somethin’
Skateboard named him Bunnyhop
It’s Baudelaire or Wolfie though
The felines named him hour for how long he eat the–
Wait a minute…
Pink loafers scuff quickly
Fiat cost a buck sixty
I’ll keep it a buck fifty
Y’all can’t really fuck with me
Bitch, I got the fuzz and I’ma own it till they bury him
Only twenty-nine but I’ve been focused since thirty M
Wolf
CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST
(Gangsta Griziiiilllz)
And like that
We gone