Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a fucking paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes with a fucking triceratops,
Rapping as I'm mocking deaf stars
Wearing synthetic made of Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, than a motherfucking Flintstone
Making crack out of pussy nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper 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 getting 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

called, he said he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit and this isn't a fucking hotline
For a fucking shrink, I already got mine
And he's not fucking working, I think I'm wasting my damn
I'm three past six and going postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock
This ain't no V Tech shit or
But after bowling, I went home for damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some Xannies
And around the house in all-over print panties
My mom's gone, fucking broad will never understand me
I'm not gay, I wanna boogie to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her, Haley robbing them
crash that fucking airplane that that faggot nigga B.o.B is in
And Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus
And won't until the cops come in
I'm an over achiever, so how about I start a of leaders
And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the receiver
Green paper, teeth and pregnant golden retrievers
Is all I want, money, diamonds and bitches, don't need them
But where the fat at? I got something to feed them
It's cooking books, the black kids never wanted to read them
Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fucking
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 stack of I'm in
Oh, not again! Another writing report
I'm stabbing any faggot hipster with a Pitchfork
Still I am
I'm Wolf, Tyler put this knife in my hand
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that fucking in my head
And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a 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 conscience
Then it hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only that I had is splattered on cement
Actions speak than words, let me try this shit, dead