[Sample: ?]
Who are you?
Who am I? I'm Lou. Who the f*ck are you?
[Intro: Louis Logic]
Yeah, check it out, my man Cimer Amor on the boards
This is your tour guide, Louie Logic, fasten your seatbelts
[Verse 1: Louis Logic]
I start beef on dark streets, cursing the transients
Take your pick of your latest whip, hearse or an ambulance
Cause I'm a scientist to the rescue
Who wish to infect you with contaminants from a test tube
I pop up on the scene unexpectedly
All up in your city like teen mother pregnancy
Fiends love my tendency to serve dope
Cause I mesh with rap like a pimp in feathered hats & a fur coat
Curtains closed, I'm a cop like Serpico
Who'll lock you up in fresh wears and let you go in dirty clothes
I'm naked, wear my words exposed
Disturbing folks performing bourbon-soaked at suburban shows
Alert the pope and you better call a doctor
I'm going off my rocker when I chug a quart of vodka
And just before the cops come I'll face a hundred dudes
Like, "I'm Louis Logic, who the f*ck are you?"
[Scratched Samples]
"Who the f*ck are you?"
{?}
[Verse Two]
Plain and simple, ordinary Jack's ain't as nimble
Plus you lack the sack if your main veins are thimble
I hang my head over the pane of windows
Throwing up like, L.A. gang signs or graf paint in scribbles
Blowing up's a far stretch, with indie B-sides
I'm hard pressed for a free ride like car theft
I'm a hard head; I gotta chill with Joe Camel
And stick with the liqs like a hick in old flannel
The contradiction in terms, to y'all n*ggas spitting a verse?
Is like me smiling while I flip you the bird
I'm mister disturbed and doctor depression
I got an obsession for seeing police officers stressing
And catching a deepthroating actress
Who knows gymnastics
And sucks the lubricant off of prophylactics
The facts is, I specialize in crushing brews
I'm Louis Logic n*gga, who the f*ck are you?
[Verse 3: Louis Logic]
I create new constructs of lewd conduct
Something similar to {Luke on dust?}
The faint of heart want to puke on us, my cohorts are so sick
You're sold short sleeping [and?] your futon [rusts?]
We throw bricks cause we building, not a lack of skill
Fake cats make a killing in the actor's guild
I got a glass to fill with beer, sipping while I'm still in gear
Whipping a black Cadillac Seville
n*ggas asking, "Is this cat for real?"
sh*t, I'm swallowing some Advil pills with a flask that's filled
As a meal, I'm a shoe-in, when it comes to spewing confusion
Over-achiever, working on improving my boozing
If you think that that's funny, a drug dealer
Tried to buy my single DAT from me with some crack money
Sonny, my style is new plus improved
Cause I'm Louis Logic, who the f*ck are you?