Tyler, The Creator's "Tamale": It's Not What You Think

Okay, if you know Tyler, The Creator, you know he loves to stir the pot. “Tamale” is one of his most infamous tracks – weird beats, lyrics that’ll make you blush, the whole thing just makes you go, “Whoa, what was THAT?”

Okay, Tyler, The Creator’s “Tamale” is Seriously Underrated

This isn’t just a song, it’s like… a whole experience. It’s got those crazy beats that get you hyped, then Tyler hits you with that mix of funny and real talk about fame and being yourself. If you haven’t listened, you’re missing out. Let’s get into “Tamale” – what the lyrics mean, and how it’s just so Tyler.

Ready to get into those “Tamale” lyrics? Check them out below!

Tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale, tamale!
They say I’ve calmed down since the last album
Well, lick my dick, how does that sound? Um
Smell my gooch, you could kiss my buns
And I don’t give a shit, bend my rectum
Somebody said bands make her dance
You think you’re getting cash, no bitch, you’re dumb
The only thing that you’re gonna get is this dick
Wait, turn this up, bitch, this my jam (where the drums at?)
Here, take a goddamn picture
And tell Spike Lee he’s a goddamn nigger
And while you’re at it, pass the lotion
And fapping and Xbox Live, that fun
Before I cum, I call your sister
When she comes over, I take picture
Instantly put it on Instagram and suplex her off a building if I get banned
Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale!
Why y’all so salty? Hot tamale is on
A can of beans bitch I’m on, your boy is bad to the bone
Bring back the horns that was played in the beginning
And tell Tony Parker that I found his vision
And if he’s tripping off my sneak dissing
Then he has to deal with me and my minions
Tryna get a Bimmer, E46
Have you heard 48? Motherfucker I’m great
Golf Wang prints always cover the sleeves
From cuts from the Biebs, ’cause he’s puffin’ the trees, please
Fuck I look like? Got a new bike tire
Never popped like the pussy on a bitch dyke
Think I give a fuck, I do, I go balls
Then I bust in her jaw like (fuck that disease)
My urethra, hole that I pee from
Bigger than the obese neck on Aretha
Now, turn that snare down
I’m back like I’m Rosa Parks fare on the same damn bus like “You’re going to jail now!”
Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale, ah! Tamale
Why y’all so salty? Hot tamale is on
A can of beans bitch I’m on, your boy is bad to the bone
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
If a woodchuck could ever give a fuck?
Bitch suck dick, motherfuck you and your opinions (can you kick it?)
Yes, I can sir, where the lump is. sicker than the last bar bold-er
I’m a CO Colorado, fuck Michael, bitch I’m badder than my BO
Find me and Lance tryna dance during chemo
Before they repossess our strong arm bands and tuxedos
Yeah buddy, this is my jam, na na na na na
Golf Wang, Golf Wang, no fuck you, na na na na na
Why y’all so salty? Hot tamale is on
A can of beans bitch, I’m on
Your boy is bad to the bone
How many fags can a lightbulb screw?
Well if it has a dick, maybe two or six
And tell the NRA I’m about to lose my shit
And shoot through Wayne LaPierre’s hair with a crucifix
How many ladies in the house?
How many ladies in the house without a rich nigga, huh?
A little Jergens in my palm for the jerkin’
Hope my mom don’t catch me, tryna set mood
Little RedTube, fuck lotion, I don’t need lube, dry fist suits me
Up and down, friction make a sound, shit’s kind of disgusting
Fap time and before I flatline, Clancy chimes in my room and catch me
This shit’s so damn embarrassing like-
Oh shit, aw (fuck)
What the fuck!
Aw, I’m sorry
Is that my shirt?
Yeah, I’m sorry I just wanted some bangs
Clean that shit up, we’re going to the office
Aw, fuck

Sounds Like a Bad Trip… And I’m Here For It

This ain’t your mama’s music. Those drums? Off-kilter AF. The synths creep in and make you wanna twitch. It’s a haunted house remix, with Tyler’s voice as the glitchy, distorted monster in the corner. Definitely not for the faint of heart.

WTF is This Even About?

Prepare for lyrics that will make your brain hurt. This is full-blown obsession, the kind that makes you want to take a shower. Food metaphors that make zero sense? Check. Fans are still picking this apart, debating if it’s pure shock value or if Tyler’s lost his damn mind trying to say something.

Why It Sticks With You (Even If You Hate It)

Here’s the thing: It stuck with me. “Tamale” sparked a weird fascination. Love it or hate it, it got people talking, arguing, trying to figure out what the hell Tyler was going for. Is it a commentary on fame, on how desire can twist you up? Or is it just Tyler being his provocateur self? Either way, it’s a bold move, the kind you don’t see often in hip hop.

The Food Thing Still Creeps Me Out

I still don’t get Tyler’s obsession with food references in this track. It adds another layer of unsettling to the whole thing. Is it about insatiable hunger twisting into something dark? Honestly, I still have zero answers, and that’s part of what makes this track so damn interesting.

Love Him or Hate Him, Tyler’s a Risk-Taker

You gotta admit, Tyler, the Creator isn’t afraid to mess with people’s expectations. “Tamale” proves he’s not about making easily digestible pop music. He’s gonna push boundaries, take you to uncomfortable places, and force you to think about stuff you might rather avoid. That’s not always fun, but there’s power in that kind of artistic boldness.

You’ll Never Forget This Mess

Love it or loathe it, “Tamale” was huge. It’s when Tyler went beyond wild child and straight-up cemented his rep as the guy who makes you question your sanity. This song worms its way into your brain and refuses to leave.

One Thing’s for Sure…

“Tamale” proves this dude marches to the beat of his own messed-up drum. He ain’t about making safe, radio-friendly bops. He’s gonna push boundaries, make music that makes you squirm, and make you think. You might hate it with a fiery passion, but you ain’t gonna forget it. And honestly, I respect that way more than some boring, forgettable track.

So, what’s the verdict? Is “Tamale” a brilliant trainwreck, or straight-up trash fire? Let’s hear it.