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Yonkers
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Tyler The Creator
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1
[Verse 1]
2
I'm a f-ckin' walkin' paradox, no I'm not
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Threesomes with a fuckin' triceratops, Reptar
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Rappin' as I'm mockin' deaf rock stars
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Wearin' synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocks
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Bedrock, harder than a muthaf-ckin' Flintstone
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Makin' crack rocks outta pussy nigga fishbone
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This nigga Jasper tryna get grown
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About five-seven of his bitches in my bedroom
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Swallow the cinnamon, I'mma scribble this sin and shit
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While Syd is tellin' me that she's been gettin' intimate with men
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Syd, shut the fuck up
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Here's the number to my therapist
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Tell him all your problems, he's fuckin' awesome with listenin'
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Wolf Haley, Golf Wang
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[Verse 2]
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Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses
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I told him to quit bitchin', this isn't a fuckin' hotline
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For a fuckin' shrink, sheesh I already got mine
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And he's not fuckin' workin', I think I'm wastin' my damn time
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I'm clockin' three past six and goin' postal
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This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock nines
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This ain't no V Tech shit or Columbine
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But after bowlin', I went home to some damn Adventure Time
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(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xanies
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And danced around the house in all-over print panties
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My mom's gone, that fuckin' broad will never understand me
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I'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin
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(What you think of Hayley Williams?)
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Fuck her, Wolf Haley robbin' 'em
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I'll crash that fuckin' airplane at that faggot nigga B.o.B is in
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And stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus
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And won't stop until the cops come in
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I'm an over achiever, so how 'bout I start a team of leaders
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And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver
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Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrievers
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All I want, fuck money, diamonds and bitches, don't need 'em
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But where the fat ones at, I got somethin' to feed 'em
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In some cookin' books the black kids never wanted to read 'em
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Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fuckin' leaves
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It's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't permed her fuckin' weave, damn
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[Verse 3]
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They say success is the best revenge
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So I beat DeShay up wit a stack of magazines I'm in
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Oh not again another critic writing report
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I'm stabbin any bloggin' faggot hipster wit a pitchfork
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Still suicidal I am
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I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fuckin knife in my hand.
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I'm Wolf, Ace gon put that fuckin hole in my head
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And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved the cock in your bitch
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(What the fuck man?) Fuck all the fame and the hype G
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I jus wanna know if my father would ever like me
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But I don't give a fuck so he prolly jus like me
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A motherfuckin goblin
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(Fuck everything man) that's what my said then the bunny
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Jumped off my shoulder now mii conscience dead now the only
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Guidance I had is splattered on cement
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Actions speak louder than words lemme try this shit
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Dead.
Yonkers-Tyler, the Creator
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