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tyler the creator – 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, doing your thing, hanging out with 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
f-ck you tyler!

watch me get this money n-gg-, tired of being hungry n-gg-
nothing funny, s-ss me while i’m thrashing, i’mma punch a n-gg-
never made of plastic, i’m a savage, you look lunch my n-gg-
p-ssing all you hating f-cking f-gs we don’t discuss, my n-gg-
we ain’t on no jolly sh-t and we don’t pop no mollies, b-tch
i’m hockin’, spitting got some n-gg-s out here poppin’ ollie switch
buncha novices, odd future the squad, its thick
them young n-gg-s 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-gg-s 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-gg- 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-gg-, summer, fall, winter-time, 24/365
you n-gg-s gon’ give me mine, i don’t have plenty time
flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
you n-gg-s gon’ give me mine, you n-gg-s 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-gg-, 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-gg-s 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 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 athiest that just worships satan,
and it’s probably why i’m not getting no f-cking alb-m 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’mma 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 occular, 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 lick (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
(oh, shut the f-ck up!).
(gunshot)

samuel’s here!
where’s wolf?
f-cking f-ggot.
salem was mine, b-tch!
was that good enough, you f-cking p-ssy?

- tyler the creator lyrics

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