Tyler, the Creator - Yonkers Lyrics (2024)

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I'm a f*cking walking paradox, no I'm notThreesomes with a f*cking triceratops, ReptarRapping as I'm mocking deaf rock starsWearing synthetic wigs made of Anwar's dreadlocksBedrock, harder than a motherf*cking FlintstoneMaking crack rocks out of puss* nigg* fishbonesThis nigg* Jasper trying to get grownAbout 5'7" of his bitches in my bedroomSwallow the cinnamon, I'm a scribble this sin and sh*tWhile Syd is telling me that she's been getting intimate with men(Syd, shut the f*ck up) Here's the number to my therapist(sh*t) Tell him all your problems, he's f*cking awesome with listeningJesus called, he said he's sick of the dissesI told him to quit bitching and this isn't a f*cking hotlineFor a f*cking shrink, sheesh I already got mineAnd he's not f*cking working, I think I'm wasting my damn timeI'm clocking three past six and going postalThis the revenge of the dicks, that's nine co*cks that co*ck ninesThis ain't no V Tech sh*t or ColumbineBut after bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink XanniesAnd danced around the house in all-over print pantiesMy mom's gone, that f*cking broad will never understand meI'm not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin(What you think of Hayley Williams?) F*ck her, Wolf Haley robbing themI'll crash that f*cking airplane that that fa*ggot nigg* B.o.B is inAnd stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagusAnd won't stop until the cops come inI'm an over achiever, so how about I start a team of leadersAnd pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiverGreen paper, gold teeth and pregnant golden retrieversIs all I want, f*ck money, diamonds and bitches, don't need themBut where the fat ones at? I got something to feed themIt's some cooking books, the black kids never wanted to read themSnap back, green ch-ch-chia f*cking leavesIt's been a couple months, and Tina still ain't perm her f*cking weave, damnThey say success is the best revengeSo I beat DeShay up with the stack of magazines I'm inOh, not again! Another critic writing reportI'm stabbing any blogging fa*ggot hipster with a PitchforkStill suicidal I amI'm Wolf, Tyler put this f*cking knife in my handI'm Wolf, Ace gon' put that f*cking hole in my headAnd I'm Wolf, that was me who shoved a co*ck in your bitch(What the f*ck, man?) F*ck the fame and all the hype, GI just want to know if my father would ever like meBut I don't give a f*ck, so he's probably just like meA motherf*ckin', Goblin(F*ck everything, man) That's what my conscience saidThen it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience deadNow the only guidance that I had is splattered on cementActions speak louder than words, let me try this sh*t, dead

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Written by: Tyler Okonma

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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