Tyler, the Creator
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I'm a fucking walking paradox, no I'm not Threesomes with a fucking triceratops, Reptar Rapping as I'm mocking deaf rock stars Wearing synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocks Bedrock, harder than a motherfucking Flintstone Making crack rocks out of pussy nigga fishbones This nigga Jasper trying to get grown About 5'7" of his bitches in my bedroom Swallow the cinnamon, I'm a scribble this sin and shit While Syd is telling me that she's been getting intimate with men (Syd, shut the f*ck up) Here's the number to my therapist (Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's fucking awesome with listening Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses I told him to quit bitching and this isn't a fucking hotline For a fucking shrink, sheesh I already got mine And he's not fucking working, I think I'm wasting my damn time I'm clocking three past six and going postal This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock nines This ain't no V Tech shit or Columbine But after bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time (What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xannies And danced around the house in all-over print panties My mom's gone, that fucking broad will never understand me I'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin (What you think of Hayley Williams?) F*ck her, Wolf Haley robbing them I'll crash that fucking airplane that that faggot nigga B.o.B is in And stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus And won't stop until the cops come in I'm an over achiever, so how about I start a team of leaders And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant golden retrievers Is all I want, f*ck money, diamonds and bitches, don't need them But where the fat ones at? I got something to feed them It's some cooking books, the black kids never wanted to read them Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fucking leaves It's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't perm her fucking weave, damn They say success is the best revenge So I beat DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm in Oh, not again! Another critic writing report I'm stabbing any blogging faggot hipster with a Pitchfork Still suicidal I am I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fucking knife in my hand I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that fucking hole in my head And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a cock in your bitch (What the f*ck, man?) F*ck the fame and all the hype, G I just want to know if my father would ever like me But I don't give a f*ck, so he's probably just like me A motherfuckin', Goblin (F*ck everything, man) That's what my conscience said Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead Now the only guidance that I had is splattered on cement Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead
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Written by: Tyler Okonma
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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"Yonkers Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 31 Mar. 2023. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/23506688/Tyler%2C+the+Creator/Yonkers>.
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