Luyện nghe bài hát Yonkers

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

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

They say success is the revenge
So I beat DeShay up with the stack of I'm in
Oh, not again! Another writing report
I'm stabbing any blogging faggot hipster with a
suicidal I am
I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fucking in my hand
I'm Wolf, Ace gon' put fucking hole in my head
And I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a in your bitch
(What the fuck, man?) the fame and all the hype, G
I just want to know if my father ever like me
But I don't give a fuck, so he's probably just 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 splattered on
Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit,