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
Wearing synthetic wigs made of Anwar's
Bedrock, harder a motherfucking Flintstone
Making crack rocks out of nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper to get grown
About 5'7" of his in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon, I'm a scribble sin and shit
While Syd is telling me that she's getting intimate with men
(Syd, shut the fuck up) the number to my therapist
(Shit) him all your problems, he's fucking awesome with listening

called, he said he's sick of the disses
I told him to quit bitching and this isn't a hotline
For a fucking shrink, I already got mine
And he's not working, I think I'm wasting my damn time
I'm three past six and going postal
the revenge of the dicks, that's nine cocks that cock nines
This ain't no V Tech or Columbine
But after bowling, I went for some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself pink Xannies
And danced the house in all-over print panties
My gone, that fucking broad will never understand me
I'm not gay, I just wanna to some Marvin
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) her, Wolf Haley robbing them
I'll crash that fucking airplane that faggot nigga B.o.B is in
And stab Mars in his goddamn esophagus
And won't stop until the cops in
I'm an over achiever, so how I start a team of leaders
And pick up Stevie to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant golden
Is all I want, fuck money, diamonds and bitches, need them
But where the fat ones at? I got something to feed
It's some cooking books, the black never wanted to read them
Snap back, ch-ch-chia fucking leaves
It's a couple months, and Tina still ain't perm her fucking weave, damn

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