Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Yonkers , by - Tyler, The Creator. Song from the album Goblin, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 08.05.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tyler
Song language: English
Yonkers |
| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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 |