Luyện nghe bài hát Rusty

Watch me get this money nigga, tired of hungry nigga
Nothing funny, sass me while I'm thrashing, I'ma a nigga
Never made of plastic, I'm a savage, you look lunch my
Passing all you hating fags we don't discuss, my nigga
We ain't on no jolly shit and we don't pop no mollies,
I'm hockin', spitting got some niggas out here Ollie switch
Buncha novices, odd future the squad, its
young niggas is back and brash, attacking with no common sense
We the last of a dying
And we don't give a fuck, so we cannot supply your
You stupid niggas who had said our hype is dying,
My pocket's solid, making off the highest tees
Bitch, twerk as I get on the verse,
Nigga Dom so cool, I refer him in person
Watch me get this money, I'm up when the chirpin'
Make actions, fuck

Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time,
You niggas gon' give me mine, I have plenty time
Flying out at any time, getting money, any
You gon' give me mine, you niggas gon' give me mine

Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time,
You niggas gon' give me mine, I don't plenty time
Flying out at any time, money, any grind
You niggas gon' give me mine, you gon' give me mine

In a world where kids my age are popping mollies leather
Sitting on tumblr, outside or enjoying the weather
Can name a sweater, but not a talent or know if whether
Or not they got one, tried to their life for the better
I was a club kid, I'd run with a fun dip, my nuts itched
I was defiant, said, "fuck shit"
the popular ones, now I'm the popular one
Also hated homes too, til I start me some
See I don't in the trap, nigga, I beez in the b's
And I be gassin' in my buzz like some bees in a
Fucking sick and getting bigger like I sneezed on
And bitches getting touchy-feely like they reading braille
I bust quick like gun-holders with tempers, and well
I to tell the kids, like fuck it, start being yourself
These fucking rappers got stylists, it's cause can't think for themselves
See, they don't have an identity, so they some help, but
Really, boy posers looking boy
I'm in that past 'preme shit, older than Tity Boi
Not a diss, but same ice cream, my shit is (diddy riese)
Na'kel smith transworld 64
Poppin' like oil, ollies, and fire
I'm harder than DJ Khaled playing the quiet game
The fuck am I saying? Tyler's not even a violent
I'm 'bout as threatening as windbreakers in hurricanes
But he rapes women, and wrong, like he hate dentists
God damn menace, 666 and not finished
And my missing, he hates women, but loves kittens
See y'all trippin' man
Look at that article that says my subject is wrong
Saying I hate gays though frank is on 10 of my songs
Look at that mom who thinks I'm evil, that grudge against me
I'm the reason that her motherfucking son got to eat
Look at the kid who had the 9 and to blow out his mind
But talk is money, I said, "hi," I guess I bought him some
Look at the in the crowd, that shit is barnacles, huh?
They thought I wasn't fair until I a carnival, huh?
But then again, I'm an atheist that just Satan
And probably why I'm not getting no fucking album placements
And MTV could suck my dick, and I fuckin' playing
Bruh, they never played it, I just won shit for their ratings
"Analog" fans are sick of the rape
All the Tron Cat fans are sick of the lakes
But what about me, bitch? I'm getting sick of
But I don't hate it when I'm taking trips to the bank
and over, shit, who really gives a fuck what I think?
My fans don't think turning on me, shit, they're extinct
Fuck buying studio time I'ma go a shrink
Record the session and send all you a link, bitch

Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time,
You gon' give me mine, I don't have plenty time
Flying out at any time, money, any grind
You niggas gon' give me mine, you niggas give me mine

Nigga, summer, fall, winter-time,
You gon' give me mine, I don't have plenty time
out at any time, getting money, any grind
You gon' give me mine, you niggas gon' give me mine

This shit just like the nights I forward to not remembering
So for being sober, I hope that you can forgive me
But momma, I'm close to the edge as possible (why you jump you fucking pussy?)
I'm seeing a drop in my ocular, jumping like they told me
That the 40's off, like you know that cliff
Don't need a therapist to tell him he could float shit (fucking faggot)
Or get compared to fucking pair with all the program
So maybe a pair of pale bitches for the gonads lick (I'll you)
Malt liquor filling me up, and all us not giving no and
All of them sensitive in awe when that pistol erupts (pistol, I got one!)
Dirty one spitting that raw till his wrists in the cuffs
Bitch gotta (Oh, shut the up!)