Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a fucking paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes with a triceratops, Reptar
as I'm mocking deaf rock stars
Wearing synthetic wigs made of dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder a motherfucking Flintstone
Making crack rocks out of pussy fishbones
This Jasper trying to get grown
5'7" of his bitches in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon, I'm a scribble sin and shit
While Syd is me that she's been getting intimate with men
(Syd, shut the fuck up) the number to my therapist
(Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's fucking awesome listening

Jesus called, he said he's of the disses
I told him to bitching and this isn't a fucking hotline
For a fucking shrink, sheesh I already got
And not fucking working, I think I'm wasting my damn time
I'm clocking three past six and postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that nines
This ain't no V Tech shit or
But bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped some pink Xannies
And danced around the house in all-over panties
My mom's gone, that fucking will never understand me
I'm not gay, I just boogie to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her, Wolf robbing them
I'll crash that fucking airplane that that nigga B.o.B is in
And Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus
And won't stop until the cops in
I'm an over achiever, so how I start a team of leaders
And up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant golden
Is all I want, fuck money, and bitches, don't need them
But where the fat ones at? I got to feed them
It's some cooking books, the kids never wanted to read them
back, green ch-ch-chia fucking leaves
It's been a couple months, and Tina still perm her fucking weave, damn

They say success is the best
So I beat DeShay up with the of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! Another critic report
I'm stabbing any blogging faggot hipster a Pitchfork
Still I am
I'm Wolf, Tyler put fucking knife in my hand
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that hole in my head
And I'm Wolf, that was me who a cock in your bitch
(What the fuck, man?) the fame and all the hype, G
I just want to know if my father ever like me
But I don't a fuck, so he's probably just like me
A motherfuckin',
(Fuck everything, man) That's what my conscience
Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience
Now the only guidance that I had is on cement
Actions speak louder words, let me try this shit, dead