Rusty

[Intro: Jason Dill]

"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!"

[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]

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

[Chorus: Domo Genesis]

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

[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? 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

[Chorus: Domo Genesis]

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

[Verse 3: Earl Sweatshirt, Tyler, The Creator (as Sam)]

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)

[Outro: Tyler, the Creator (as Sam)]

Samuel's here! Where's Wolf? Fucking faggot. Salem was mine, bitch! Was that good enough, you fucking pussy?