Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

I'm a fucking paradox, no I'm not
Threesomes a fucking triceratops, Reptar
Rapping as I'm mocking deaf rock
synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock, harder than a motherfucking
crack rocks out of pussy nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper to get grown
About 5'7" of his bitches in my
the cinnamon, I'm a scribble this sin and shit
While Syd is telling me that she's been getting with men
(Syd, the fuck up) Here's the number to my therapist
(Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's fucking with listening

Jesus called, he said he's of the disses
I told him to quit bitching and this a fucking hotline
For a fucking shrink, sheesh I got mine
And he's not working, I think I'm wasting my damn time
I'm clocking three six and going postal
This the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock
This ain't no V Tech or Columbine
But bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some Xannies
And danced the house in all-over print panties
My mom's gone, that fucking broad will understand me
I'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some
(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 stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn
And won't stop until the cops in
I'm an over achiever, so how about I a team of leaders
And pick up Stevie to be the wide receiver
Green paper, teeth and pregnant golden retrievers
Is all I want, money, diamonds and bitches, don't need them
But where the fat ones at? I got to feed them
It's some cooking books, the black kids wanted to read them
Snap back, green fucking leaves
It's been a couple months, and Tina still perm her fucking weave, damn

say success is the best revenge
So I beat DeShay up the stack of magazines I'm in
Oh, not again! Another critic report
I'm stabbing any blogging hipster with a Pitchfork
suicidal I am
I'm Wolf, put this fucking knife in my hand
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that hole in my head
And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a cock in your
(What the fuck, man?) Fuck the and all the hype, G
I want to know if my father would ever like me
But I don't give a fuck, so he's probably just me
A motherfuckin',
(Fuck everything, man) That's what my conscience
Then it hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance I had is splattered on cement
speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead