“Look Like My Mama” is a promotional single by American rapper (from Los Angeles, California), AZ Chike‘s ninth studio album, No Rest For The Wicked. ^{[1] [2] [3]}

It features American rapper, singer, record producer, and fashion designer Tyler, The Creator.^{[5] [6]}

The Official Music Video directed by Stacking Memories premiered Friday, August 28^th, 2026^[1], via AZ Chike’s official YouTube channel.^[3]

The track produced by: Tyler, The Creator.^[4]

The song written by: AZ Chike, Tyler, The Creator, 50 Cent, C. Styles, & Phillip Pitts.^[4]

Song: #LookLikeMyMama

Artist: #AZChike #TylerTheCreator

Album: #NoRestForTheWicked

^Explicit

^[1]

“Look Like My Mama” Lyrics ^[4]
Song by AZ Chike, & Tyler, The Creator:

Intro: Tyler, The Creator
Yeah (One, two, three, let’s go)

Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator
B****, I look just like my mama
Tick-tick, time to heat it up like a sauna
Your negro hit cha-cha, lil’ dance like La Bamba
Thumper might drop if I stomp in these Converse
Why are you mad, lil’ b****? Get some commas
Pitty-pat pockets lookin’ celiac, kitty fat
Ayy, Chike, bro, let’s bring the city back
Really that guy (Hmm), what he really on?
S***, for now, call me Mr. Hundred Million, g******

Verse 2: AZ Chike
Bet a b**** get tired before I stop throwin’ money
B****, this thuggin’ in my veins, don’t need it tatted on my stomach, dawg
Call it pita bread, big bag, I mean hummus
Never stress about a b****, I re-up in three months
Then I take one step back, and ten forward
I let n***** copy me, copy that, 10-4
H*** sent, send the text, these h*** weak, send more, n**** (One, two, three, let’s go)

Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator
B****, I’m sorry, snuck it in the party
Said you’re getting guap, n***** lyin’ like safari
Hate when a bird ask questions, like, “What are we?”
Got me runnin’ with that long stick in hand like Sha’Carri (Uh)
P-noid, I don’t play ’round
Brodie said he’ll swing and slide for me, he a playground (Ayy, ayy, ayy)
B****, I’m too rich to use a Zelle or a PayPal
I stuff so many b****** in the Rolls, s*** a Greyhound (Hm)

Verse 4: AZ Chike & Tyler, The Creator
I dot my I’s but I’ll never cross my n**** T (N****)
They just starin’ ’cause they scared, you know how n***** be
You hittin’ send on a Tweet, n****, hit the streets
I wake up and thank God for makin’ me what I’m meant to be
I don’t even play fair, n***** know what’s up
Catch a opp in the club, might blow it up
I’m from the land, where you from? N****, throw it up (One, two, three, let’s go)

Verse 5: Tyler, The Creator
Ayy, ayy, baby, I’m the keyboard killer, tour seat filler
Mr. New Ting in the G4 with her
Big feet, big league, you’s a D4 n****
Me and Jasper, the purple and gold floor sitter
Errybody sittin’ front row ain’t a fan
Errybody that you cool with ain’t ya mans
N***** jealous of me, still shook my momma hand
F*** all that business, under ten toes, I stand, n****

Verse 6: AZ Chike
B****, I smell like new money, yeah, sponsor shoe money
In her throat like Throat Coat, tea bags and two honeys
Only do what n***** dream of or can’t even imagine
Try to throw me off my pivot but the check say New Balance
Let me loose, huh, let me through
Hoppin’ the fence to the top, T came gave me a boost
N***** boof, chop the deuce, I do movies, you do spoofs
Consider this s*** easy math the way I calculate my moves, uh (One, two, three, let’s go)

Verse 7: Tyler, The Creator
Ayy, n****, CHROMAKOPIA, I had my guard down
C******* tried to say I only rap about my cars now
I’m the only one who left the block and turned the car ’round
And picked my n***** up, sorry if I’m tryna bar out
Stop judgin’ buddy loss if you don’t show him ways of winnin’
Stop sayin’, “Free the homie,” if you know that n**** did it
Is it ballot or the bullet? ‘Cause I’m votin’ for the killin’
We gon’ burn this b**** down, put the fire to the ceilin’, n****, uh

Verse 8: AZ Chike
B****, you know it’s first Sunday like Katt Williams
Blow her back out, then I hit it while her back healin’
Catch ’em out back, backdoor ’em, then I’m back chillin’
Weak b****, peaked in high school, can’t get back that feelin’, uh
Yeah, that’s right, the wanna DAZN, box me in
But I ain’t going without a fight
B****, the whip so white, I had to let it read my rights
It be the n***** I’m better than sayin’ they can’t see the hype, tough (One, two, three, let’s go)

Verse 9: Tyler, The Creator
Ayy, ayy, my mama prayed for me, but I still keep blammer (Yup)
Your b**** is not bad, you just have low standards
I’m him, bow down, n****, where is your manners? (Come on)
When I walk in, phone down, I don’t like cameras (Come on)
If that big fella catch you, I can’t help you
I’m Santa, got a big bag with a elf, too
Two car keys, seven M’s on the belt loop
And I skrrt off, tires smell like I melt boot

Verse 10: AZ Chike
Big feet, big Chike, b****, I got big d***
Your attitude don’t match your pockets, wait a minute, big ick, ugh
Been called the blitz, she turned around, hit stick, ugh
Career on tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, boom
I got way too much confidence for a b****
I got way too much chip and dip on a h**
I got way too much, I can’t keep it on the low, hm
I got way too much, huh, I got way too much

Writer(s): AZ Chike, Tyler, The Creator, 50 Cent, C. Styles, & Phillip Pitts
^[4]