Yonkers chords by Tyler, The Creator
Verse 1
D
Uh, Wolf Haley
Golf Wang
Bb
Yeah
D
Verse 2
I'm a fucking walking paradox,
Gm
no, I'm not
D
Threesomes with a fucking triceratops,
Reptar
Rapping as I'm mocking
deaf rock stars
Gm
Wearing synthetic wigs made of
D
Anwar's dreadlocks
Bedrock,
harder than a motherfucking Flintstone
Gm
Making crack rocks out of pussy
D
nigga fishbones
This nigga Jasper tryna get grown
About five,
Gm
F#m
D
seven of his bitches in my bedroom
Swallow the cinnamon,
I'm a scribble this sin and shit
F#m
While Syd is telling me that she's
Gm
D
been getting intimate with men
(Syd, shut the fuck up) Here's
C#
the number to my therapist (shit)
Eb
You tell him all your problems,
F
he's fucking awesome with listening
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Verse 3
D
Uh, Wolf Haley
Uh, Golf Wang
Uh, Wolf Haley
C#m
D
Golf
fuckin' Wang
Verse 4
D
Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses I
F#m
told him to quit bitchin',
D
and this isn't a fucking hotline
For a fucking shrink,
sheesh, I already got mine
C#
And he's not fucking working,
A
D
I think I'm wasting my damn time
I'm clocking three past
six and going postal
This the revenge of the dicks,
A
D
that's nine cocks that cock 9's
This ain't no V. Tech shit
or Columbine
A
But after bowling, I went home
C#m
for some damn Adventure Time
E
D
(What'd you do?) I slipped myself
A
some pink Xannies (yeah)
Gm
A
And danced around the house
D
in all-over print print panties
My mom's gone,
A
that fucking broad will never understand me
D
I'm not gay,
I just wanna boogie to some Marvin
E
F
(What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her,
Wolf Haley robbing them
E
Eb
I'll crash that fucking airplane that
D
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
Gm
A
I'm an over achiever,
Abm
A
D
so how about I start a team of leaders
A
And pick up Stevie Wonder
D
to be the wide receiver
A
Green paper,
gold teeth and pregnant golden retrievers
D
All I want, fuck money, diamonds and bitches,
don't need 'em
But where the fat ones at? I got
something to feed 'em
It's some cooking books,
the black kids never wanted to read 'em
Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fucking
fucking fucking leaves
It's been a couple months,
and Tina still ain't perm her fucking weave, damn
Verse 5
D
Uh, Wolf Haley
Uh, Golf Wang
Uh, Wolf Haley
C#m
A
D
Golf Wang, yeah
Goddamn goblin
Wolf Haley
Uh, Golf Wang
Uh, Wolf Haley
C#m
A
Golf Wang, yeah
D
Dm
D
Dm
D
They say success is the best revenge
Verse 6
A
So I beat DeShay up with the stack
of magazines I'm in
D
Oh, not again,
E
another critic writing report
B
E
C#m
I'm stabbing any blogging faggot
D
hipster with a pitchfork
Still suicidal, I am
C#m
I'm Wolf, Tyler put this fuck
F#m
ing knife in my hand
D
I'm Wolf,
Ace gon' put that fucking hole in my head
C#
And I'm Wolf,
C#m
that was me who shoved a cock in your bitch
D
(What the fuck,
A
D
man?) Fuck the fame and all the hype, G
A
I just want to know if my
Abm
E
father would ever like me
Eb
D
But I don't give a fuck,
so he's probably just like me
A motherfuckin' goblin
(Fuck everything,
C#
F
man) That's what my conscience said
D
Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder,
D
now my conscience dead
Now the only guidance that I had
is splattered on cement
Actions speak louder than words,
C
let me try this shit
Dead
Yonkers
Tyler, The Creator
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