Luyện nghe bài hát Rusty

Watch me get this money nigga, tired of hungry nigga
Nothing funny, me while I'm thrashing, I'ma punch a nigga
made of plastic, I'm a savage, you look lunch my nigga
Passing all you hating fucking fags we discuss, my nigga
We ain't on no jolly and we don't pop no mollies, bitch
I'm hockin', spitting got some niggas out here poppin' Ollie
novices, odd future the squad, its thick
Them 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 your needs
You stupid niggas who had said our hype is dying,
My solid, making profit off the highest tees
Bitch, twerk as I get on the verse,
Nigga Dom so cool, I refer him in third
Watch me get this money, I'm up the bird's chirpin'
Make actions, fuck

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

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

In a world where kids my age are popping mollies leather
Sitting on tumblr, never outside or enjoying the
Can name a sweater, but not a talent or don't know if
Or not they got one, tried to change their for the better
I was a drama kid, I'd run with a fun dip, my nuts itched
I was defiant, said, "fuck shit"
Hated the popular ones, now I'm the one
hated homes too, til I start coppin' me some
See I beez 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 like I sneezed on Adele
And bitches getting touchy-feely like they reading some
I bust quick like with short tempers, and well
I tried to tell the kids, like fuck it, being yourself
These rappers got stylists, it's cause they can't think for themselves
See, they don't have an identity, so they needed help, but
Really, boy posers silly boy
I'm in that past season 'preme shit, than Tity Boi
Not a diss, but with ice cream, my shit is (diddy riese)
Na'kel smith page 64
Poppin' oil, ollies, and fire flames
I'm harder than DJ playing the fucking quiet game
The fuck am I saying? Tyler's not even a name
I'm as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes
But he rapes women, and wrong, like he hate dentists
God menace, 666 and he's not finished
And my missing, he hates women, but loves kittens
See niggas trippin' man
Look at article that says my subject matter is wrong
Saying I gays even though frank is on 10 of my songs
Look at that mom who thinks I'm evil, that grudge against me
Though I'm the reason that her 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
at the ones in the crowd, that shit is barnacles, huh?
They thought I wasn't fair until I threw a carnival,
But then again, I'm an atheist that just Satan
And it's probably why I'm not getting no fucking album
And MTV could suck my dick, and I ain't playing
Bruh, they never played it, I just won shit for their fucking
"Analog" fans are getting of the rape
All the Cat fans are getting sick of the lakes
But what me, bitch? I'm getting sick of complaints
But I don't hate it when I'm taking daily trips to the
Over and over, shit, who gives a fuck what I think?
My don't think turning on me, shit, they're almost extinct
Fuck studio time I'ma go purchase a shrink
Record the session and send all you a link, bitch

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

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

This shit just like the nights I look to not remembering
So much for being sober, I that you can forgive me
But momma, I'm close to the edge as possible (why don't you jump you pussy?)
I'm seeing it's a drop in my ocular, like they told me
That the 40's half off, like you that cliff
Don't need a therapist to tell him he could float that (fucking faggot)
Or get to fucking pair with all the program kids
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 chumps in awe when that pistol (pistol, I got one!)
Dirty one spitting that sumpy raw till his in the cuffs
Bitch gotta (Oh, the fuck up!)