🎵 She/Tron Cat/Yonkers (Live at Medley ‪Coachella) // by Tyler, The Creator

3 ContributorsShe/Tron Cat/Yonkers (Live at Medley ‪Coachella) Lyrics [Part 1: She] [Verse: Frank Ocean & Tyler, The Creator] G-g-golden rubbers in these denim pockets (Denim pockets) On my waist, there's a black Glock (What?) New girl moved on the block (What?) She been plottin' on my brown cock Last night, I slept over hers (Over hers) During sex, I overheard (I overheard) A sword sliced the air, I pulled out the na-na Rolled off the bed, then shot back, pow-pow Blood on the sheets, probably spillin' from my gash Looked out the glass, seen him sprintin' on the grass A real ninja, with the blade and the mask Had them gold ninja stars, and red Supreme nunchuks Now, she tryna patch me up, but Girl, I was just tryna get a nut bust If that's your ex, you should probably own a pistol But I'm guessin' it's wiser to exit with dude (Sing it, sing it, sing it) [Chorus: Frank Ocean & Tyler, The Creator] The blinds wide open so he can See you in the dark when you're sleepin' Naked body, fresh out the shower And you touch yourself after hours Ain't no man allowed in your bedroom You're sleeping alone in bed (Check, okay) But check your window ('Cause what?) He's at your window (Okay) [Part 2: Tron Cat] [Intro: Syd & Tyler, The Creator] La-la-la(Yeah, yeah), la La-la-la (Play this for you, you weird bitch) Ahh [Verse: Tyler, The Creator] Satan's gettin' jealous of the wolves, the demons say they preferrin' us Books on not givin' a fuck is what they're referring us (Wolf Gang) Now wolves, I know you heard of us, we murderers And young enough to get the fucking priest to come and flirt with us You niggas rap about fucking bitches and getting head Instead, I rap about fucking bitches and gettin' head While them niggas stacking bread, I could stack a couple dead Bodies, making red look less of a color, more of a hobby [Part 3: Yonkers] [Intro] Uh, Wolf Haley, Golf Wang, go [Verse] I'm a fuckin' walkin' paradox, no, I'm not Threesomes with a fuckin' triceratop, Reptar I'm rappin' as I'm mockin' deaf rock star Wearin' synthetic wigs that's made of Anwar's dreadlocks That bedrock, harder than that goddamn Flintstone Makin' them crack rocks that's outta bitch nigga fishbones Ayo, my boy J tryna get grown It's like five, seven of his hoes in my bedroom, I Swallow the cinnamon, Imma 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 Tell him all your problems, he's fucking awesome with listening