Yonkers Songtext

Syd, shut the fuck up
Here's the number to my therapist
Tell him all your problems, he's fuckin' awesome with listenin'

Wolf Haley, Golf Wang
Wolf Haley, Golf Wang, yeah

Jesus called, 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 nines
This ain't no V Tech shit or Columbine
But after bowlin', I went home to some damn Adventure Time
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xanies
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' 'em
I'll crash that fuckin' airplane at 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 over achiever, so how 'bout I start a team of leaders
And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver
Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold 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
In some cookin' 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 permed her fuckin' weave, damn

Wolf Haley, Golf Wang
Wolf Haley, Golf Wang, yeah
Goddamn goblin
Wolf Haley, Golf Wang
Wolf Haley, Golf Wang, yeah

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