Trippy Tyler - DIVERSE lyrics

(Verse 1: Trip) I ain't rich I'm broke So speak for meson-ope Since you're weak within you wrote With amnesia I'm bringing either flows Eatin foes like anxiety for meson-ope Teach a foe how Tyler be writting heat like he's a pro Pane spitta That go fang witta Dope vein getting Close range dismember Every lane switcher To stay in your same picture Just saying your lame with that Betraying the fake figure You can take that fake sh** With some weights taped to your face Then base jump in a lake quick I'm waitin for satan to say something blatant Or claim he's gonna take my soul and exchange it Rearrange his goals take his whole game and f**ing change it My soul laced with greatness and bold hatred for fake sh** and b**h you fake like takin hits and not inhalin Or raging when I'm on the stage but you don't know what I be sayin (Verse 2: Trip) When I rap my colors tie dye Yours is probably grey or somethin lame Let's tie dye yours Open your brain with no restraints Let them ties dye boy I'm ashamed you're still a lame and your mind's minor Yeah I'm white but when I rap my colors tie dye Yours is probably grey or something lame Let's tie dye yours Open your brain with no restraints Let them ties dye boy I'm ashamed you're still a lame and your mind's minor My mind is ginormous Like a tour bus or a fat who*e s*ut after smashin four, four full-course lunches You know I run this Rap game hurdle Every time they raise the bar I still jump it (Verse 3: trip) Stay diverse or your career will die first Got a page full of k**er bars and called it diverse Stay diverse or your career will die first Got a page full of k**er bars and called it diverse I'm talkin heavy-weight bars bu*ter bean up in a booth I got heavy-weight bars bu*terfingers plus a few tons Rap games new son Eatin all these stale rappers like a plate of croutons Young Issac Newton Might have a motherf**in brain blast Young Jimmy Newtron The cake is lit so take a wish and pray for this Soulful hated kid to aim his vocal rage and clip outta the local space you in Knowledge from America artillery from Russia Call these kicks and snares my serenity to others College wasn't there so my criteria was f**-up Now I'm falling down the stairs with some Henny and a rubber for your mother Won't stop rapping 'til I'm sunned-up Won't stop rapping 'til the sun-up Now my life is always dark like I'm under a cloud of thunder that rumble like the Wu-tang k**er bees when they f**ing buckle Meth took my men lotta friends from the gutters Jizzin on your b**hes kisser dick up in her bu*ter Rza to your wrist When I spit a bunch of notes Ay to get a Ghost face k**ah when it comes to rap pages See broI know this s*ut She blow me til I stick up