diabolic – yonkers freestyle lyrics
[intro]
everybody thinks it’s all sweet out here or somethin’
diabolic in this motherf-cker
rebel army, b-tch!
y’all little skaters wanna war?
we’re storming your castle. ho!
smack you off your f-cking skateboard
check it
[verse 1]
he’s a f-cking walking paradox, no he’s not
he’s a f-g in tight gear wearing a striped pair of socks
now, don’t make me blow your spot with an iraqi missile
for acting like a bipolar b-tch with daddy issues
honestly, there’s probably a reason that he ditched you:
took one look at his daughter and wasn’t happy with you
it’s like “hi son, daddy missed you, how’s your mother?
i’m about to f-ck her and nut all over your album cover.”
that crowd of suckers, golf w-ngas, nerds who web search
key words and exerts, ’til they crash your server networks
so tell those girls i’ll run in your circle head first
choke tyler with the draw strings on earl’s sweatshirt
or lead burst stab you at your record release
for ever mentioning “immortal tech-of-the-nique”
you’re soft as ordering a s-x on the beach
bruno mars would whoop your -ss if you met in the street, b-tch!
that’s just the f-ckin’ warning shot
it’s that diabolic sh-t right there!
that rebel army sh-t, motherf-cker!
new york in this motherf-cker
it’s about to go down, y’all ready?
this is where we k!ll ’em
one time, yo
[verse 2]
jesus called, he said it’s sad seeing tyler starving
stop eating roaches off the carpet at kreayshawn’s apartment
marvin cringed when this vigilante dissed his family
ate a stripper’s antes and danced around in his sister’s panties
well the only sh-t that tickles this b-tch’s fancy
is when christian clancy sticks d-ck in his little f-nny
this tranny seems lost; he cross dresses with these dorks
and beats off to pictures of himself in skinny jean shorts
police are on the scene with stomach pumps and report
that tyler guzzled 3 quarts of frank ocean’s meat sauce
ya’ll way too weak, soft and p-ss to ball up your fists now
even rhianna had the b-lls to scr-p and brawl with chris brown
but you just b-tched out. management would make moves
and guerilla union paid some fake dudes that never paid dues
this here’s a prelude to me with a semi wildin’
and a mask on like you performing on jimmy fallon
b-tch, i be squeezin’ and you be leakin’ 60 gallons
from the hot lead ’til you drop dead like ritchie valens
so, f-ck this little skater, i’ve been sick since christian slater
was gleaming the cube with tony hawk on the vision gator
incinerate a creator for fans on youtube
a few views later and haters will say i’m doodoo. [he sucks!]
but who knew he’d jerk off and think of hopsin?
while i’m fingerpoppin’ tw-ts, c-cks the only thing you’re gobblin’
wait, did you say “goblin”? yeah, like your single droppin’
you mention my people and didn’t think a thing would stop it?
now, you’re mistaken like thinking hip hop suits you
’til the past came back to haunt you and called you an odd future, b-tch!
f-ckin’ smack the sh-t out of you little f-ggots
f-ck outta here!
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