Diabolic - Yonkers Freestyle lyrics

Everybody thinks it's all sweet
Out here or somethin'
Diabolic in this motherfucker
Rebel Army, bitch!
Y'all little skaters wanna war?
We're storming your castle ho!
Smack you off your fucking skateboard
Check it

He's a fucking walking paradox, no he's not
He's a fag 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
Bitch 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 fuck her and nut
All over your album cover"
That crowd of suckers, Golf Wangas
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 Sex on the Beach
Bruno Mars would whoop your ass if
You met in the street, bitch!
That's just the fuckin' warning shot
It's that Diabolic shit right there!
That Rebel Army shit, motherfucker!
New York in this motherfucker
It's about to go down, y'all ready?
This is where we kill 'em one time, yo

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 shit that
Tickles this bitch's fancy
Is when Christian Clancy sticks dick
In his little fanny
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 puss to ball up your fists now
Even Rhianna had the balls to scrap
And brawl with Chris Brown
But, you just bitched 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
Bitch, I be squeezin' and you
Be leakin' 60 gallons
From the hot lead 'til you
Drop dead like Ritchie Valens
So, fuck 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

But who knew he'd jerk off
And think of Hopsin?
While I'm fingerpoppin' twats
Cocks 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 suit's you
'til the past came back to haunt you
And called you an Odd Future, bitch!

Fuckin' smack the shit out
Of you little faggots fuck outta here!