Tyler the Creator - Yonkers

Dicen que la verdad duele y quien mejor para escenificarlo que el misógino y homófobo Tyler the Creator, uno de los más polémicos raperos de la escena hip-hop alternativa californiana, suministrándonos aquí mismo el más lóbrego, detallado y escatológico de los ejemplos.

Y para ilustrarlo se marca un de los más excesivos ejercicios de sinceridad al borde del abismo, llevándose por delante a todo el que pueda, hablando de todos y de todos hablando mal. Tampoco aquí se va a respetar a la propia familia ni a la propia figura, así que podríamos afirmar que tuvo un muy, muy, muy mal día. El video por supuesto es excesivamente gráfico al mostrarnos, primero su extravagante procedimiento para acabar con la carroña, segundo el peligro de contaminarse con aquello que tanto odias, tercero escupiendo toda la ponzoña que devora su interior y cuarto saldando la deuda contraída por acabar con su particular pesadilla, que al parecer no es otra que el resto del universo.

Yonkers

[Verse 1]

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 pissy 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'

[Verse 2]

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 to 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 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

[Verse 3]

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