Текст песни Tyler, the Creator - Rusty (feat. Domo Genesis & Earl Sweatshirt)

Текст:

[Verse 1:Domo Genesis] Watch me get this money, nigga; tired of being hungry, nigga Nothing funny, sass me while I'm thrashing, I'mma punch you, nigga Never made of plastic, I'm a savage -- you look lunch, my nigga Passing all you hating fucking fags we don't discuss, my nigga We ain't on no jolly shit and we don't pop no Mollies, bitch I'm hocking, spitting got some niggas out here popping Ollie switch Buncha novices, Odd Future the squad, is thick Them young niggas is back and brash, attacking with no common sense We the last of a dying breed And we don't give a fuck, so we cannot supply your needs You stupid niggas who had said our hype is dying, please My pockets solid, making profit off the highest tees Bitch, merch twerk as I get on the verse, cursing Nigga Dom so cool, I refer him in third person Watch me get this money, I'm up when the birds chirping Make actions, fuck rehearsing [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 2:Tyler, the Creator] In a world where kids my age are popping Mollies with leather Sitting on Tumblr, never outside or enjoying the weather Can name a sweater, but not a talent or don't know if whether Or not they got one, tried to change their life for the better I was the drama club kid, I run where the fun did, my nuts itched I was defiant, always said, "Fuck shit" Hated the popular ones, now I'm the popular one Also hated homes too, til I start coppin' me some See I don't beez in the trap, nigga, I beez in the b's And I be gassing up my buzz like some bees at 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 stylists cause they can't think for themselves See, they don't have an identity, so they needed some help, but Really, boy? Poseurs looking silly, boy I'm in that past season 'Preme shit, older than Tity Boi Not a diss, but same with ice cream, my shit is [Diddy Riese] Na'kel Smith, Transworld page 64 Poppin' like oil ollie in fire flames I'm harder than DJ Khaled playing the fucking quiet game The fuck am I saying? Tyler's not even a violent name About as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes But he rapes women, and spit wrong, like he hate dentists God damn menace, 666 and he's not finished And my shit's missing, he hates women, but love kittens See y'all niggas tripping, 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 I'm evil, hold that grudge against me Though I'm 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 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 fucking album placements And MTV could suck my dick, and I ain't fuckin' playing Bruh, they never played it, I just won shit for they 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? I'm getting sick of complaints But I don't hate it when I'm taking daily trips to the bank Oh but no but, shit, who really gives a fuck what I think? My fans

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