July 11, 2022 - Tate Speech - Andrew Tate
04:33
| 
| Time | Text |
|---|---|
| It's been a while since we've gone through my Instagram poems. | |
| This is a big deal, right? | |
| My Instagram poems are probably the finest literary works in the history of the English language. | |
| Maybe I'm being a bit too humble, but they're definitely, definitely at least that. | |
| So, when I write these things and I put them on Instagram, I expect all you fuckers to pay attention and be impressed. | |
| And just to make sure, I'm going to read them to you, because I have people say to me, oh, but I've heard other people read them back to me, right? | |
| And they read it and the timing's all wrong. | |
| And the poem doesn't sound good, because they're stupid. | |
| People are stupid, and they read them with the wrong timing, and then it doesn't make any sense. | |
| So I'm going to read them to make sure they're read correctly. | |
| This is a picture of me just in the office chilling, three Ferrari keys, whiskey, about 100 Gs, 30 grand Hublot, $15,000 jacket, cigar, you know, whatever, normal day. | |
| I show less than I have to stay tasteful. | |
| I'm still catching hate cause they're hateful. | |
| Too much food out the gate, it's a plateful. | |
| Now your girl's full of tate and she's grateful. | |
| I show less than I earn cause I'm humble. | |
| You're bitching my ride cause you fumbled. | |
| Yes, I hear a couple pussy dem grumble. | |
| But they don't try and step, I don't stumble. | |
| I show less than I know, I've stopped talking. | |
| Split the bullshit from truth, I've been clocking. | |
| See me sit and don't speak like I'm hawking. | |
| But there's feet behind talk, bitch, I'm walking. | |
| I show less than I love, but I miss her. | |
| Thinking back to the last day I kissed her. | |
| She left a sore on my heart. | |
| There's a blister. | |
| But I fuck the next best thing. | |
| That's her sister. | |
| How is that not beautiful? | |
| Because you people are dumb. | |
| Food out the gate, that's a plateful. | |
| Food is English slang for drugs. | |
| I'm moving drugs, plate, food. | |
| People don't get it. | |
| You don't get the little, little pieces of beauty that are in my writing. | |
| Let's look at the next one. | |
| Big and strong like brandy. | |
| Pink Lambo floss like candy. | |
| Made the rich list, can't ban me. | |
| I made a quick twitch, that's handy. | |
| Bad man stock, big man shock. | |
| Don't walk the talk, run the block. | |
| Got a beauty queen bitch on lock. | |
| And she's 19, just like my Glock. | |
| Grab her bust, I got Wonderlust. | |
| Thrust adjust, about to combust. | |
| I stay robust with her mistrust. | |
| Cause the love's a must, bitch is gold dust. | |
| I got a money bag I'm hiding. | |
| Too many supercars I'm riding. | |
| Chicks like this pic I'm deciding. | |
| In which DMs I'm about to be sliding. | |
| Once again, cause you're all dumb, let me break it down. | |
| Pink Lambo floss like candy. | |
| Flossin' is like flexin'. | |
| Candy floss is pink. | |
| My Lamborghini is pink. | |
| Do you understand the brilliance? | |
| No, of course you don't. | |
| You don't understand any of it. | |
| She's 19 like my Glock. | |
| Glock 19. | |
| For the real G's. | |
| I'll give you fuckers one more. | |
| Because I'm a nice man. | |
| I often like to write romantic poems. | |
| Because when I write romantic poems, bitches send it to my inbox and go, is this for me? | |
| And I say, yeah, bitch. | |
| It's for all y'all. | |
| The moon was missing from our darkest night. | |
| I planted a billion stars, but it didn't feel right. | |
| I wanted our love to shine, but it grew too bright. | |
| To send brought to light, our end is in sight. | |
| Heartbroken punches, call them mood swings. | |
| I'm the king of the ring, with heartbreak to bring. | |
| You dealt with the dong, I deal with the ding. | |
| Took a shot in the heart, and I'm feeling the sting. | |
| I'm wanting to ride horses in a rainstorm. | |
| I have a cold stare, but my heart's warm. | |
| I didn't show love, I tried to reform. | |
| My sleeve's kinda worn cause my heart's torn. | |
| Should I get you back, or make you cry? | |
| Make you forgive me, or fuck up your life? | |
| It's gonna be a battle, but I'm built to supply. | |
| And I'm training to fight, in the heat of Dubai. | |
| That's me in Dubai, punching pads. | |
| Boom, boom, boom, boom. | |
| Don't come out with no gangster shit. | |
| Come out with that love shit. | |
| Who wants to ride horses in a rainstorm? | |
| You know how many bitches want to ride horses in a rainstorm? | |
| My sleeve's kinda worn, and my heart's torn. | |
| As in, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and it's worn because I've been wearing my heart on my sleeve too long, and now I'm damaged, poor Andrew. | |
| You understand? | |
| There's no point in being a full-time tough guy. | |
| You gotta be a full-time tough guy, but the women gotta look at you and go, Maybe there's enough underneath the tough guy that he will love me. |
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