Tyler, The Creator - Yonkers Lyrics
[Verse 1]I'm a *****in' walkin' paradox, no I'm notThreesomes with a *****in' triceratops, ReptarRappin' as I'm mockin' deaf rock starsWearin' synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocksBedrock, harder than a mutha*****in' FlintstoneMakin' crack rocks outta pissy nigga fishbonesThis nigga Jasper tryna get grownAbout 5'7" of his *****es in my bedroomSwallow the cinnamon, I'mma scribble this sinnin' shitWhile Syd is tellin' me that she's been gettin' intimate with men(Syd, shut the ***** up) Here's the number to my therapist(Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's *****in' awesome with listenin'[Verse 2]Jesus called, he said he's sick of the dissesI told him to quit *****in' and this isn't a *****in' hotlineFor a *****in' shrink, sheesh I already got mineAnd he's not *****in' workin', I think I'm wastin' my damn timeI'm clockin' three past six and goin' postalThis the revenge of the dicks, that's nine *****s that ***** ninesThis ain't no V Tech shit or ColumbineBut after bowlin', I went home to some damn Adventure Time(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink ZanniesAnd danced around the house in all-over print pantiesMy mom's gone, that *****in' broad will never understand meI'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin(What you think of Hayley Williams?) ***** her, Wolf Haley robbin' 'emI'll crash that *****in' airplane that faggot nigga B.o.B is inAnd stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagusAnd won't stop until the cops come inI'm an over acheiver, so how 'bout I start a team of leadersAnd pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiverGreen paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrieversAll I want, ***** money, diamonds and *****es, don't need 'emBut where the fat ones at? I got somethin' to feed 'emIn some cookin' books, the black kids never wanted to read 'emSnap back, green ch-ch-chia *****in' leavesIt's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't perm her *****in' weave, damn[Verse 3]They say success is the best revengeSo I beat DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm inOh, not again, another critic writin' reportI'm stabbin' any bloggin' faggot hipster with a PitchforkStill suicidal? I amI'm Wolf, Tyler put this *****in' knife in my handI'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that *****in' hole in my headAnd I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a ***** in your *****(What the *****, man?) ***** the fame and all the hype, GI just wanna know if my father would ever like meBut I don't give a ***** so he's probably just like meA mutha*****in' Goblin(***** everythin', man) That's what my conscience saidThen it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience deadNow the only guidance that I had is splattered on cementActions speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead