Tyler, The Creator, A$AP Rocky — Potato Salad

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Ayy, you gon’ start me from the top? Listen

Shout out Harlem, man

Shout out A$AP Rocky, man

AWGE in the building, man

What’s good? Is that potato salad?

Yo, listen

Niggas give me the cold shoulder, I can speak for myself

So I keep a high waist and alligator the belt

And got a belt with the holster, I ain’t playing games

But got some lil’ niggas who would do it so I pass the controller

You get pressed and X out, tri-angle your nose

Pause your life if you squares try to mess with my O’s, whoa

So cut the crap like shit barbers

Cause we really with the beef like closeted gay fathers

Nigga we get dollars, give ’em to Ben Baller

Exchange for them chains that’s all shiny with thick water

I got back pains, neck heavy like whipped cream

My whip clean, and they all white, I whip cream

And cop boys and I joy stick, I whip cream and cop cribs

I got more space than big jeans, y’all sleeping on me

Explain why they got shit dreams

I’m alien, got the laser gun with the big beam

Married to the money, my bitch green

No I don’t sip lean, but ride around in rockets like Yao Ming

Y’all niggas weak

They thought I was goofy and all mouses

Double C my luggage and fill them with Comme blouses

Y’all cop kush, my nigga I cop houses

And fill em with some Leo DiCap’s and some Cole Sprouses, nigga

Where we? Rocky, A$AP

GOLF, boy, where we at? Nigga in Pari’

Fuck clothes, I cop pieces

Couple thots with me and them hoes is like divas

Got my Vans on but they look like sneakers

Flipped a couple packs, BasedGod in the speakers

Bass all in the speakers

In the field like baseball, play ball, face wall when polices come

I don’t rock Chanel, I rock channel

And no this ain’t a purse, it’s a satchel (At you)

Bless, at you, nah I ain’t sneeze

But if niggas want steam or smoke, bet I match you

Got a bullet with your name on the barrel

If hollows don’t clip, you get nip like it’s cat food

That dude, when I die, they gotta make a statue

Bad attitude, this ain’t a purse, it’s a satchel

Go to any nigga with money up in my bracket

Then I think about the state of rapping

All the freshmens in the classes

All the super seniors mumblin’ and ramblin’

Mumblin and rappin’, mumble rapping?

I find it hard to find actual talent

I find it hard to find an actual challenge

I’m like Shabazz Palace’s last acid hit, elaborate

Rap lab’s labyrinth, word to Kodak’s Black’s Lazarus

«Calldrops» on the album skits

Ayo, I’m the channel that you watch, I’m the ammo in the Glock

Weird nigga, full suit with the sandals and the socks, stop

And based on my neck boy

You would think I hate glass homes way I’m handling the rocks

Who cast the first stone? Bitch it’s me, fuck you thought?

Real grunge nigga, I ain’t got a flannel as the top

And I’m picking up guitar, strum nigga

Bum niggas wish they could make a garden shed

But they sleeping on me man like their arm is dead

I’m a wild nigga boy and you farmer bred, born

You ain’t animal, you are, corn, hahah, yeah!

K shiz, what up nigga!

I have nothing cool to do