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Yonkers by Tyler, The Creator but it’s just my voice - Spectre (Rapper)
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Yonkers by Tyler, The Creator but it’s just my voice Spectre (Rapper)

Yonkers by Tyler, The Creator but it’s just my voice - Spectre (Rapper)
[Intro]
Uh, Wolf Haley, Golf Wang, go

[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
Making crack rocks outta pussy nigga fishbones (Haha)
This nigga Jasper tryin' to get grown
About five, seven of his bitches in my bedroom (Hey)
Swallow the cinnamon, I'ma scribble this sin and shit
While Syd is tellin' me that she's been getting intimate with men
(Syd, shut the fuck up)
Here's the number to my therapist (Shit)
You tell him all your problems, he's fuckin' awesome with listеnin' (Haha)

[Chorus]
Uh, Wolf Haley, uh, Golf Wang
Uh, Wolf Haley, Golf fuckin' Wang

[Verse 2]
Jesus callеd, 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 9's
This ain't no V. Tech shit, or Columbine
But after bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xannies (Yeah)
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' them
I'll crash that fuckin' airplane that 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 overachiever, so how about I start a team of leaders
And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver? (Cool)
Green paper, gold teeth, and pregnant golden 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
It's some cooking 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 perm her fuckin' weave
Damn
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