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Asap Rocky - Potato Salad Ft Tyler The Creator Lyrics

Potato Salad
[Intro: Tyler the Creator]
Start me from the top, listen. Shout out Harlem man. Shout out A$AP Rocky man. AWGE in the building man. What’s good? Is that potato salad? Yo listen
[Verse 1: Tyler the Creator]
Niggas give me the cold shoulder, I can speak for myself
So I keep a high waist and alligator the belt
Got the belt with the holster, I ain’t playing games
But got some lil’ niggas who would do it, so I pass the controller
Press their neck-x’ed out and tri-angle your nose
Pause your life if you squares try to mess with my O’s, whoa
So cut the crap like shit barbers
Cause we really with the beef like closeted gay fathers
Nigga we get dollars, give ‘em to Ben Baller
Exchange for them chains that’s all shiny with thick water
I got back pains, neck heavy like whipped cream
My whip clean, and they all white, I whip cream
And cop boys, and I joy stick, I whip cream and cop cribs
I got more space than big jeans, y’all sleeping on me
Explain why they got shit dreams, I’m alien
Got the laser gun with the big beam
Married to the money, my bitch green
No I don’t sip lean, but ride around in rockets like Yao Ming
Y’all niggas weak
They thought I was goofy and all mouses
Double C my luggage and fill them with comb blouses
Y’all cop kush, my ni*** I cop houses
And fill em with some Leo DiCap’s and Cole Sprouses, ni***
Where we, Rocky, A$AP, GOLF boy, where we at, ni*** in Pari’
[Verse 2: A$AP Rocky]
F*** clothes I cop pieces
Couple thots with me and them hoe 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
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 catfood
That do, when I die they gotta make a statue
Bad attitude this ain’t a purse it’s a satchel
Go to any ni*** with money up in my bracket
Then I think about the state of rapping
All the freshman 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 Palaces last acid hit, elaborate
Rap Lab’s labyrinth, word to Kodak Black’s Lazarus
Calldrops on the album skits
[Verse 3: Tyler the Creator]
Ayo
I’m the channel that you watch, I’m the ammo in the Glock
Weird ni***, full suit with the sandals and the socks, stop
And based on my neck boy
You would think that I hate glass homes way I’m handling the rocks
Who cast the first stone, bitch it’s me, f*** you thought
Real grunge ni***, I ain’t got a flannel as the top
And I’m picking up guitar, strum ni***
Bum niggas wish they could make a Garden Shed
But they sleeping on me man like their arm is dead
I’m a wild ni*** boy, and you farmer bred born
You ain’t animal, you are corn