Tyler The Creator - Rusty Lyrics
[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]Watch me get this money nigga, tired of being hungry niggaNothing funny, sass me while I’m thrashing, I’mma punch a niggaNever made of plastic, I’m a savage, you look lunch my niggaPassing all you hating *****ing fags we don’t discuss, my niggaWe ain’t on no jolly shit, and we don’t pop no mollies, *****I’m honkin’, spitting got some niggas out here poppin’ nollie switchBuncha novices, Odd Future the squad, it's thick.Them young niggas is back and brash, attacking with no common senseWe the last of a dying breed, and we don’t give a *****So we can not supply your needsYou stupid niggas who had said our hype is dying, pleaseMy pocket’s solid, making profit off the highest tees, **********, [?] I get on the verse, cursin’Nigga Doms so cool, I refer him in third person.Watch me get this money, I’m up when the birds chirpingMake actions, ***** rehearsing[Hook: Domo Genesis x2]Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time, 24/365You niggas gon’ give me mine, I don’t have plenty timeFlying out at any time. Getting money, any grindYou niggas gon’ give me mine. You niggas gon’ give me mine[Verse 2: Tyler, the Creator]In a world where kids my age are popping mollies, with leatherSitting on Tumblr, never outside there enjoying the weatherCan name a sweater, but not a talentOr don’t know if whether or not they got oneTried to change their life for the betterI was a drama club kid. I run with the fun dip. My nuts itchedI was defiant, always said, “***** shit”Hated the popular ones, now I’m the popular oneAlso hated homes too, til I start coppin’ me someSee I don’t beez in the trap, nigga, I beez in the b’sAnd I be gassin’ in my buzz like some bees in a shell*****ing sick and getting bigger like I sneezed on AdeleAnd *****es getting touchy-feely like they reading some brailleI bust quick like gun-holders with short tempers, and wellI tried to tell the kids, like ***** it, start being yourselfThese *****ing rappers got stylist, it’s cause they can’t think for themselvesSee, they don’t have an identity, so they needed some help, butReally, boy? Posers looking silly boyI’m in that past season ‘Preme shit, older than Tity BoiNot a diss, but same with ice cream, my shit is [Diddy Riese]Na’kel Smith. Trans-World page 64Poppin’ like oil, ollies, and fire flamesI’m harder than DJ Khaled playing the *****ing quiet gameThe ***** am I saying? Tyler’s not even a violent nameI’m ’bout as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanesBut he rapes women, and spit wrong, like he hate dentistsGod damn menace, 666 and he’s not finishedAnd my shit’s missing, he hates women, but loves kittensSee y’all niggas trippin’ manLook at that article that says my subject matter is wrongSaying I hate gays even though Frank is on 10 of my songsLook at that Mom who thinks I’m evil, hold that grudge against meThough I’m the reason that her mother*****ing son got to eatLook at the kid who had the 9 and tried to blow out his mindBut talk is money, I said, “Hi, ” I guess I bought him some timeLook at the ones in the crowd. That shit is barnacles, huh?They thought I wasn’t fair until I threw a carnival, huh?But then again, I’m an athiest, that just worships Satan,And it’s probably why I’m not getting no *****ing album placementsAnd MTV could suck my dick, and I ain’t *****in’ playingBruh, they never played it, I just won shit for their *****ing ratings“Analog” fans are getting sick of the rapeAll the “Tron Cat” fans are getting sick of the lakesBut what about me, *****? I’m getting sick of complaintsBut I don’t hate it when I’m taking daily trips to the bankOver and over, shit, who gives a ***** what I think?My fans don’t think turning on me, shit, they’re almost extinct***** buying studio time. I’mma go purchase a shrinkRecord the session and send all you mother*****ers a link, *****[Hook: Domo Genesis]Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time. 24/365.You niggas gon’ give me mine, I don’t have plenty time.Flying out at any time. Getting money, any grind.You niggas gon’ give me mine. You niggas gon’ give me mine.[Verse 3: Earl Sweatshirt]This shit’s just like the nights I look forward to not remembering.So much for being sober, I hope that you can forgive meBut Momma, I’m close to the edge as possible (Why don’t you jump you *****ing *****?)All I’m seeing is the drop in my occular, jumping like they told meThat the 40′s half off, like you know that cliff.Don’t need a therapist to tell him he could float that shit (*****ing faggot).And compare to *****ing pair ‘em with all the program kitsSo maybe a pair of pale *****es for the gonads lick (I’ll show you).Malt liquor filling me up, and all us not giving no *****s andAll of them sensitive chumps in awe whenn that pistol erupts (Pistol, I got one! ).Dirty been spittin’ the sumpy raw till his wrists in the cuffs(Oh, shut the ***** up! ).(Gunshot)[Outro: Sam]Samuel’s here!Where’s Wolf?*****ing faggot.Salem was mine, *****!Was that good enough, you *****ing *****?
