Yonkers – Tyler, the Creator
(Verse 1)
I’m a f_ckin’ walkin’ paradox, no I’m not
Threesomes with a f_ckin’ triceratops, Reptar
Rappin’ as I’m mockin’ deaf rock stars
Wearin’ synthetic wigs made of Anwar’s dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder than a muthaf_ckin’ Flintstone
Makin’ crack rocks outta pissy n_gga fishbones
This n_gga Jasper tryna get grown
About 5’7″ of his b_tches in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon, I’mma scribble this sinnin’ sh_t
While Syd is tellin’ me that she’s been gettin’ intimate with men
(Syd, shut the f_ck up) Here’s the number to my therapist
(Sh_t) Tell him all your problems, he’s f_ckin’ awesome with listenin’
(Verse 2)
Jesus called, he said he’s sick of the disses
I told him to quit b_tchin’ and this isn’t a f_ckin’ hotline
For a f_ckin’ shrink, sheesh I already got mine
And he’s not f_ckin’ workin’, I think I’m wastin’ my damn time
I’m clockin’ three past six and goin’ postal
This the revenge of the d_cks, that’s nine cocks that cock nines
This ain’t no V Tech sh_t or Columbine
But after bowlin’, I went home to some damn Adventure Time
(What’d you do?) I slipped myself some pink Zannies
And danced around the house in all-over print panties
My mom’s gone, that f_ckin’ broad will never understand me
I’m not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) F_ck her, Wolf Haley robbin’ ’em
I’ll crash that f_ckin’ airplane that faggot n_gga 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 over acheiver, so how ’bout I start a team of leaders
And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrievers
All I want, f_ck money, diamonds and b_tches, don’t need ’em
But where the fat ones at? I got somethin’ to feed ’em
In some cookin’ books, the black kids never wanted to read ’em
Snap back, green ch-ch-chia f_ckin’ leaves
It’s been a couple months, and Tina still ain’t perm her f_ckin’ 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 writin’ report
I’m stabbin’ any bloggin’ faggot hipster with a Pitchfork
Still suicidal? I am
I’m Wolf, Tyler put this f_ckin’ knife in my hand
I’m Wolf, Ace gon’ put that f_ckin’ hole in my head
And I’m Wolf, that was me who shoved a cock in your b_tch
(What the f_ck, man?) F_ck the fame and all the hype, G
I just wanna know if my father would ever like me
But I don’t give a f_ck so he’s probably just like me
A muthaf_ckin’ Goblin
(F_ck everythin’, 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 sh_t, dead
