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    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 muthafuckin' Flintstone

    Makin' crack rocks outta pussy nigga fishbones
    This nigga Jasper tryna get grown
    About 5'7" of his bitches in my bedroom
    Swallow the cinnamon, I'mma scribble this sinnin' shit
    While Syd is tellin' me that she's been gettin' intimate with men
    (Syd, shut the fuck up) Here's the number to my therapist
    (Shit) Tell him all your problems, he's fuckin' awesome with listenin'

    Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses
    I told him to quit bitchin' and 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 for some damn Adventure Time
    (What'd you do?) I slipped myself some pink Zannies
    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 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 over acheiver, 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 perm her fuckin' weave, damn

    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 writin' 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 muthafuckin' Goblin
    (Fuck everythin', 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

    Letra enviada por Murilo Maraus
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    Todas as letras de Tyler, The Creator

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