Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a walking paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes a fucking triceratops, Reptar
Rapping as I'm mocking rock stars
Wearing synthetic made of Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder than a Flintstone
Making crack rocks out of pussy nigga
This nigga trying to get grown
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 getting intimate men
(Syd, shut the fuck up) the number to my therapist
(Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's fucking with listening

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

They say is the best revenge
So I DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! Another writing report
I'm stabbing any blogging hipster with a Pitchfork
Still 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, was me who shoved a cock in your bitch
(What the fuck, man?) Fuck the and all the hype, G
I just to know if my father would ever like me
But I don't give a fuck, so probably just like me
A motherfuckin',
(Fuck everything, man) That's what my said
Then it bunny off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance I had is splattered on cement
Actions speak than words, let me try this shit, dead