Yonkers lyrics

[Intro]

Wolf Haley, Golf Wang

[Verse 1]

I'm a fucking walking paradox – no, I'm not

Threesomes with a fucking triceratops, Reptar

Rapping as I'm mocking deaf rock stars

Wearing synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocks

Bedrock, harder than a motherfucking Flintstone

Making crack rocks outta pussy nigga fishbones

This nigga Jasper trying to get grown

About 5'7" of his bitches in my bedroom

Swallow the cinnamon, I'mma scribble this sin and shit

While Syd is telling me that she's been getting intimate with men

(Syd, shut the fuck up) Here's the number to my therapist

(Shit) You tell him all your problems, he's fucking awesome with listening

[Verse 2]

Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses

I told him to quit bitching, this isn't a fucking hotline

For a fucking shrink, sheesh, I already got mine

And he's not fucking working, I think I'm wasting my damn time

I'm clocking three past six and going postal

This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock nines

This ain't no V Tech shit or Columbine

But after bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time

(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xannies

And danced around the house in all-over print panties

My mom's gone, that fucking broad will never understand me

I'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin

(What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her, Wolf Haley robbing 'em

I'll crash that fucking airplane that that faggot nigga B.o.B is in

And stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus

And won't stop until the cops come in

I'm an overachiever, so how about I start a team of leaders

And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver?

Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant golden retrievers

All I want, fuck money, diamonds and bitches, don't need them

But where the fat ones at? I got something to feed 'em

It's some cooking books, the black kids never wanted to read 'em

Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fucking leaves

It's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't perm her fucking weave, damn

[Verse 3]

They say success is the best revenge

So I beat DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm in

Oh, not again! Another critic writing report

I'm stabbing any blogging faggot hipster with a Pitchfork

Still suicidal I am

I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fucking knife in my hand

I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that fucking hole in my head

And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved the cock in your bitch

(What the fuck, man?) Fuck the fame and all the hype, G

I just want to know if my father would ever like me

But I don't give a fuck, so he's probably just like me

A motherfuckin' Goblin

(Fuck everything, man) That's what my conscience said

Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead

Now the only guidance that I had is splattered on cement

Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead

• Artist:Tyler, The Creator
• Album:Yonkers