Tyler, The Creator, Earl Sweatshirt, Domo Genesis - Rusty lyrics

"I'm saying, you know, like all I ever
Told you to do was grow up
Don't grow down you
Know, like, you know, grow
Up don't grow down
Grow out you go from being a kid, just doing
Your thing
Hanging out with your friends months later
You're world-famous you're a
Gay rights activist, and you don't
Even know it you know what, I don't wanna say
It to you no more, Tyler fuck you, tyler!"

Watch me get this money, nigga
Tired of being hungry, nigga
Nothing funny, sass me while I'm thrashing
I'ma punch a 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
Nigga, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four
Three-sixty-five
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
Summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four
Three-sixty-five
You niggas gon' give me mine
'cause 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

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? Posers 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 hates 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 atheist 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 don't, they turning on me, shit
They're almost extinct
Fuck buying studio time
I'ma go purchase a shrink
Record the session and send all
You motherfuckers a link, bitch
Nigga, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four
Three-sixty-five
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
Summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four
Three-sixty-five
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

This shit just like the nights I
Look forward to not remembering
So much for being sober
I hope that you can forgive me
But Momma, I'm close to the edge as possible
(Why don't you jump, you fucking pussy?)
All I’m seeing is the drop in my ocular
Jumping like they told me
That the 40's half off
Like you know that cliff
Don't need a therapist to tell him
He could float that shit (Fucking faggot)
Or get compared to fucking pair
With all the program kids
So maybe a pair of pale
Bitches for the gonads lick (I'll show you)
Malt liquor filling me up
And all us not giving no fucks and
All of them sensitive chumps in
Awe when that pistol erupts
(Pistol, I got one)
Dirty one spitting that sumpy raw till
His wrists in the cuffs
Brother the Pigeons is us
Bid you goodnight and good luck
(Oh, shut the fuck up, Gunshot)
Samuel's here! Where's Wolf? Fucking
Faggot salem was
Mine, bitch! Was that good enough
You fucking pussy?