Yonkers lyrics

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[Verse 1:]
I'm a fuckin' walkin' paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes with a fuckin' triceratops, Reptar
Rappin' as I'm mockin' deaf rock stars
Wearin' synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder than a motherfuckin' Flintstone
Makin' crack rocks outta pussy nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper tryna get grown
About five-seven of his bitches in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon, I'm a scribble this sin and shit
While Sid is tellin' me that she's been gettin' intimate with men
Sid, shut the fuck up
Here's the number to my therapist
Tell him all your problems, he's fuckin' awesome with listenin'

Wolf hayley, Golf Wang

[Verse 2:]
Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit bitchin', this isn't a fuckin' hotline
For a fuckin' shrink, sheesh I already got mine
And he's not fuckin' 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 cock 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 fuckin' broad will never understand me
I'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?)
Fuck her, Wolf Haley robbin' 'em
I'll crash that fuckin' airplane at 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 'bout I start a team of leaders
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And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrievers
All I want, fuck 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 fuckin' leaves
It's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't permed her fuckin' weave, damn




(3rd verse)
they say success is the best revenge

So I beat DeShay up with a 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 put that fuckin hole in my head

And I’m Wolf, that was me who shoved a cock in your bitch

WHAT THE FUCK MAN
Fuck 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 fuck so he’s probably just like me

A mother fucking goblit

FUCK EVERYTHING MAN

That’s what my conscience said

Then it bunny-hopped off my shoulder now my conscience dead

Now the only guidance I had is splattered on cement

Actions speak louder than words let me try this shit

Dead.

golfwang



Thanks to ÿoyo genius for correcting these lyrics

Thanks to Cheezuz for correcting these lyrics

Writer(s): Tyler Okonma
Copyright: Sony/Atv Songs Llc, Golf Wang Steak Sauce
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