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domo genesis - rusty lyrics

watch me get this money n-gga, tired of being hungry n-gga
nothing funny, s-ss me while i’m thrashing, i’ma punch a n-gga
never made of plastic, i’m a savage, you look lunch my n-gga
p-ssing all you hating f-cking f-gs we don’t discuss, my n-gga
we ain’t on no jolly sh-t and we don’t pop no mollies, b-tch
i’m hockin’, spitting got some n-ggas out here poppin’ ollie switch
buncha novices, odd future the squad, its thick
them young n-ggas is back and brash, attacking with no common sense
we the last of a dying breed
and we don’t give a f-ck, so we cannot supply your needs
you stupid n-ggas who had said our hype is dying, please
my pocket’s solid, making profit off the highest tees
b-tch, twerk as i get on the verse, cursin’
n-gga dom so cool, i refer him in third person
watch me get this money, i’m up when the bird’s chirpin’
make actions, f-ck rehearsing

n-gga, summer, fall, winter-time, 24/365
you n-ggas gon’ give me mine, i don’t have plenty time
flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
you n-ggas gon’ give me mine, you n-ggas 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 a drama club kid, i’d run with a fun dip, my nuts itched
i was defiant, always said, “f-ck sh-t”
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, n-gga, i beez in the b’s
and i be g-ssin’ in my buzz like some bees in a sh-ll
f-cking sick and getting bigger like i sneezed on adele
and b-tches 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 f-ck it, start being yourself
these f-cking rappers got stylists, it’s cause they can’t think for themselves
see, they don’t have an ident-ty, so they needed some help, but
really, boy posers looking silly boy
i’m in that past season ‘preme sh-t, older than t-ty boi
not a diss, but same with ice cream, my sh-t is (diddy riese)
na’kel smith transworld page 64
poppin’ like oil, ollies, and fire flames
i’m harder than dj khaled playing the f-cking quiet game
the f-ck am i saying? tyler’s not even a violent name
i’m ’bout as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes
but he rapes women, and spit wrong, like he hate dentists
god d-mn menace, 666 and he’s not finished
and my sh-t’s missing, he hates women, but loves kittens
see y’all n-ggas trippin’ man
look at that article that says my subject matter is wrong
saying i hate g-ys 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 motherf-cking 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 sh-t 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 f-cking album placements
and mtv could suck my d-ck, and i ain’t f-ckin’ playing
bruh, they never played it, i just won sh-t for their f-cking ratings
“-n-log” fans are getting sick of the rape
all the tron cat fans are getting sick of the lakes
but what about me, b-tch? i’m getting sick of complaints
but i don’t hate it when i’m taking daily trips to the bank
over and over, sh-t, who really gives a f-ck what i think?
my fans don’t think turning on me, sh-t, they’re almost extinct
f-ck buying studio time i’ma go purchase a shrink
record the session and send all you motherf-ckers a link, b-tch

this sh-t 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 f-cking p-ssy?)
i’m seeing it’s a 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 sh-t (f-cking f-ggot)
or get compared to f-cking pair with all the program kids
so maybe a pair of pale b-tches for the gonads l!ck (i’ll show you)
malt liquor filling me up, and all us not giving no f-cks 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
b-tch gotta (oh, shut the f-ck up!)

- domo genesis lyrics

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