Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a fucking paradox, no I'm not
with a fucking triceratops, Reptar
Rapping as I'm mocking rock stars
Wearing synthetic wigs made of Anwar's
Bedrock, harder than a motherfucking
Making crack rocks out of nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper trying to get
About 5'7" of his in my bedroom
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 number to my
(Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's awesome with listening

called, he said he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit bitching and this a fucking hotline
For a fucking shrink, I already got mine
And he's not fucking working, I think I'm wasting my time
I'm clocking three six and going postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that nines
ain't no V Tech shit or Columbine
But after bowling, I went home for some damn Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink
And danced the house in all-over print panties
My mom's gone, that fucking will never understand me
I'm not gay, I wanna boogie to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her, Wolf robbing them
I'll crash that airplane that that faggot nigga B.o.B is in
And Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus
And stop until the cops come in
I'm an over achiever, so how 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, need them
But where the fat ones at? I got to feed them
It's some cooking books, the black kids wanted to read them
Snap back, green fucking leaves
It's been a months, and Tina still ain't perm her fucking weave, damn

They say success is the best
So I DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! critic writing report
I'm stabbing any blogging faggot hipster with a
suicidal I am
I'm Wolf, put this fucking knife in my hand
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put fucking hole in my head
And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a in your bitch
(What the fuck, man?) the fame and all the hype, G
I want to know 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
it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance I had is splattered on cement
Actions speak louder words, let me try this shit, dead