[Skit: Eddie Murphy]
Straight up, um, old people that get offended easily:
Y'all should just get the f*ck out now
[Verse 1: Louis Logic]
(Uh, uh, uh, uh, yeah, yeah)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(In 2001, we making hot sh*t for these pus*y motherf*ckers)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(Out there who don't know no different)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(You know what I'm saying? Yo, yo, what)
I hate rappers that spit nonsense for eight chapters
You might as well play your tape backwards
Safe crackers couldn't get it open like Logic at an open mic
Signifying like Dolomite on sober nights
But when I'm drunk and p*ssy, you're seeing something grizzly
Stumbling dizzy with a saturated [?] committee
From the city where the blacks & Puerto Rocks throw the bolos
Put you in a chokehold and blood soak your polo
Til it don't show the logo, ¿Comprende?
Cause if you don't close your blowhole
They'll show up where your hen stays
If anybody's asking for it in the studio
Then you knew this flow could be your last recording
I'll leave your DAT distorted (Whyyyyy?)
Cause your rhymes is worthless
You can't finance a purchase with your wax in storage (Uh uh)
My virulent verses would read like the Bible with curses
If I [planted?] on the side of your churches
[Chorus: Louis Logic] (x2)
I'm guilty as charged, filthy-ass sergeant of slang
The harder I craft my tracks, the harder they bang
I been talking sh*t on that guy, disrespecting this guy
You think I ain't got the balls, you've got to check my di*k size
[Verse 2: Louis Logic]
I'm an off-kilter thought spiller
My force built up after drinking twenty-four Millers
My day seems twice as short when I daydream about
Coors-filled cups and cigarettes with short filters
Oftentimes, I'm lost in rhymes
As if I lost my mind like a postman who missed his coffee time
Rappers p*ssed me off this time and when I'm p*ssed off
I wish for the chance to stab a redneck with a pitchfork
f*ck phone sex, I rape the headset
Bone the switchboard to get off and spray in excess
So follow the folklore and the best you can hope for
Is a broke jaw from a boxer that'll sock your [?]
Like a hostile mobster if you dropped his pasta
Cursed and sweared the Virgin Mary and then you shot his mama
And that's a lot of drama for the average show
Pack your clothes and leave my barrio before you're carried home
[Chorus: Louis Logic] (x2)
[Verse 3: Louis Logic]
When I finally drop an album, I want to see my tape sell
So much I'm eating robust meals until my face swells
I'm sick of cold cuts and having to take els to pay my bills
I need a deal to make me mils
Or at least enough to quit my day job
That'd suffice and make me feel I'm back to life, like a seance
Chaos, corruption, and foulness would make a lovely Centerpiece on the lawn in front of your houses
Who's that running his mouth? (It's Logic)
One of the thousands of perverts spending time
Looking under chicks' blouses
I ain't the nice guy I once was
I been through a lot of beer cans, blunt guts, and dumb sl*ts
But if I had the choice to un-f*ck my thinking
My mother'd probably tell you that her son stuck with drinking
Well, at least I like to recycle
Only I do it by humping chicks, then dump the b*tch
Just to be spiteful
[Chorus: Louis Logic] (x4)
[Outro: Louis Logic]
So, gentle motherf*ckers
I didn't want to be like this, n*ggas
I'm trying to be a nice guy
But motherf*ckers is making me angry, man
Y'all n*ggas making me sleepy with this sh*t
f*ck you
[?] bang upside your head
f*ck you, f*ck you, f*ck you
And the horse you rode in on
I been told y'all before
You slimy motherf*ckers
You know what I mean?
Louis Logic
Why y'all forcing me to do this sh*t to y'all
Uh, yo (laughing) yeah