Tyler The CreatorTyler The Creator – Rusty lyrics
[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]
Watch me get this money nigga, tired of being hungry nigga
Nothing funny, sass me while Im thrashing, Imma punch a nigga
Never made of plastic, Im a savage, you look lunch my nigga
Passing all you hating fucking fags we dont discuss, my nigga
We aint on no jolly shit, and we dont pop no mollies, bitch
Im honkin, spitting got some niggas out here poppin nollie switch
Buncha novices, Odd Future the squad, it's thick.
Them young niggas is back and brash, attacking with no common sense
We the last of a dying breed, and we dont give a fuck
So we can not supply your needs
You stupid niggas who had said our hype is dying, please
My pockets solid, making profit off the highest tees, bitch
Bitch, [?] I get on the verse, cursin
Nigga Doms so cool, I refer him in third person.
Watch me get this money, Im up when the birds chirping
Make actions, fuck rehearsing
[Hook: Domo Genesis x2]
Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time, 24/365
You niggas gon give me mine, I dont 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 2: Tyler, the Creator]
In a world where kids my age are popping mollies, with leather
Sitting on Tumblr, never outside there enjoying the weather
Can name a sweater, but not a talent
Or dont know if whether or not they got one
Tried to change their life for the better
I was a drama club kid. I run with the fun dip. My nuts itched
I was defiant, always said, Fuck shit
Hated the popular ones, now Im the popular one
Also hated homes too, til I start coppin me some
See I dont beez in the trap, nigga, I beez in the bs
And I be gassin in my buzz like some bees in a shell
Fucking sick and getting bigger like I sneezed on Adele
And bitches getting touchy-feely like they reading some braille
I bust quick like gun-holders with short tempers, and well
I tried to tell the kids, like fuck it, start being yourself
These fucking rappers got stylist, its cause they cant think for themselves
See, they dont have an identity, so they needed some help, but
Really, boy? Posers looking silly boy
Im in that past season Preme shit, older than Tity Boi
Not a diss, but same with ice cream, my shit is [Diddy Riese]
Nakel Smith. Trans-World page 64
Poppin like oil, ollies, and fire flames
Im harder than DJ Khaled playing the fucking quiet game
The fuck am I saying? Tylers not even a violent name
Im bout as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes
But he rapes women, and spit wrong, like he hate dentists
God damn menace, 666 and hes not finished
And my shits missing, he hates women, but loves kittens
See yall niggas trippin man
Look at that article that says my subject matter is wrong
Saying I hate gays even though Frank is on 10 of my songs
Look at that Mom who thinks Im evil, hold that grudge against me
Though Im the reason that her motherfucking son got to eat
Look at the kid who had the 9 and tried to blow out his mind
But talk is money, I said, Hi, I guess I bought him some time
Look at the ones in the crowd. That shit is barnacles, huh?
They thought I wasnt fair until I threw a carnival, huh?
But then again, Im an athiest, that just worships Satan,
And its probably why Im not getting no fucking album placements
And MTV could suck my dick, and I aint fuckin playing
Bruh, they never played it, I just won shit for their fucking ratings
Analog fans are getting sick of the rape
All the Tron Cat fans are getting sick of the lakes
But what about me, bitch? Im getting sick of complaints
But I dont hate it when Im taking daily trips to the bank
Over and over, shit, who gives a fuck what I think?
My fans dont think turning on me, shit, theyre almost extinct
Fuck buying studio time. Imma go purchase a shrink
Record the session and send all you motherfuckers a link, bitch
[Hook: Domo Genesis]
Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time. 24/365.
You niggas gon give me mine, I dont 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 shits just like the nights I look forward to not remembering.
So much for being sober, I hope that you can forgive me
But Momma, Im close to the edge as possible (Why dont you jump you fucking pussy?)
All Im seeing is the drop in my occular, jumping like they told me
That the 40′s half off, like you know that cliff.
Dont need a therapist to tell him he could float that shit (Fucking faggot).
And compare to fucking pair em with all the program kits
So maybe a pair of pale bitches for the gonads lick (Ill show you).
Malt liquor filling me up, and all us not giving no fucks and
All 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 fuck up! ).
Salem was mine, bitch!
Was that good enough, you fucking pussy?
Lyrics taken from http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/t/tyler_the_creator/rusty.html