Yonkers Tyler The Creator Lyrics

I'm a f-ckin' walkin' paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes with a f*ckin' triceratops, reptar
Rappin' as I'm mockin' deaf rock stars
Wearin' synthetic wigs made of anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder than a muthaf-ckin' flintstone
Makin' crack rocks outta pissy n-gga fishbone
This n-gga jasper tryna get grown
About five-seven of his bitches in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon, I'mma scribble this sin and shit
While syd is tellin' me that she's been gettin' intimate with men
Syd, shut the f*ck up
Here's the number to my therapist
Tell him all your problems, he's f-ckin' awesome with listenin'

Wolf haley, golf wang

Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit bitchin', this isn't a f-ckin' hotline
For a f-ckin' shrink, sheesh I already got mine
And he's not f-ckin' workin', I think I'm wastin' my damn time
I'm clockin' three past six and goin' postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that c*** nines
This ain't no v tech shit or columbine But after bowlin', I went home to some damn adventure time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink xanies
And danced around the house in all-over print panties
My mom's gone, that f*ckin' 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 robbin' 'em
I'll crash that f-ckin' airplane at that faggot n-gga 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 'bout I start a team of leaders
And pick up stevie wonder to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrievers
All I want, f-ck money, diamonds and bitches, don't need 'em
But where the fat ones at, I got somethin' to feed 'em
In some cookin' books the black kids never wanted to read 'em
Snap back, green ch-ch-chia f-ckin' leaves
It's been a couple months, and tina still ain't permed her f*ckin' weave, damn