Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

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

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

say success is the best revenge
So I beat DeShay up the stack of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! critic writing report
I'm any blogging faggot hipster with a Pitchfork
suicidal I am
I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fucking knife in my
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put fucking 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 if my father would ever like me
But I don't give a fuck, so he's probably just me
A motherfuckin',
(Fuck everything, man) what my conscience said
Then it bunny off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance that I had is splattered on
Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit,