Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a walking paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes with a fucking triceratops,
Rapping as I'm mocking deaf rock
Wearing synthetic wigs of Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, than a motherfucking Flintstone
Making crack rocks out of pussy nigga
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 telling me that 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 he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit bitching and this isn't a hotline
For a shrink, sheesh I already got mine
And he's not fucking working, I think I'm my damn time
I'm clocking three past six and postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine that cock nines
This ain't no V shit or Columbine
But after bowling, I home for some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself pink Xannies
And danced the house 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 think of Williams?) Fuck her, Wolf Haley robbing them
I'll crash that fucking that that faggot nigga B.o.B is in
And stab Bruno Mars in his 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 to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant retrievers
Is all I want, money, diamonds and bitches, don't need them
But where the fat ones at? I got something to them
It's some cooking books, the kids never wanted to read them
Snap back, 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 the stack of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! Another writing report
I'm stabbing any blogging faggot with a Pitchfork
Still I am
I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fucking in my hand
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 know if my father would ever me
But I give a fuck, so he's probably just like 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,