Ah, so hmm… let me see… Very interesting
(The Odd Couple!)
I see your hobbies are drinking, smoking weed and all types of ill shit
Yo bust this, I spit from the love in my heart
And trust this, them spits’ll be up on the charts
So when it’s time for the rumble to start
My subtle remarks get up in your head and make you crumble apart
I spit a couple of bars then MCs disappear
One rhyme is worth more than what you gross in a fiscal year
My fist appears after two sips of beer and a 50 Smirnoff
Guaranteed to knock your lips and hands off
I took a placement test after two years of a school on a And scored as a space cadet
I break cassettes lyrical face of death
Shot a dealer I ain’t payed yet to erase the debt
Blazing all the cess cause I got it for free
Now every dealer on my block is like «You're not copping from me!»
My pops dropped in the sea like garbage man, dropping debris
Now pro life has got a problem with me With no diapers I’m shitting on the hottest MCs
I’m like a ghost writer
A player who’s not in the league
And consequently, that means I’m over top of the trees
And watching from a chopper like the Compton police
Approximately, too hot for some black number 3
Without my dick I made a bitch drop to her knees
Got it on lock with a key
It’s Logic and me We spit the real hip-hop
Not what you watch on TV
I spend a long time drinking, a short time thinking, I’m just a short step from
my life-line shrinking
That’s why it ain’t much I won’t say in a song, because I started dying on the
day I was born
I spend a day or two puffed-up, a day as a drunk fuck, waiting for the day he ain’t waking the fuck up That’s why it ain’t much I won’t say in a song, because I started dying on the
day I was born
I’m a proud scrub and admittedly
My favorite shit’s waving at chicks from the cockpit of my man’s Infiniti
My holy trinity is beer sex and smokes
My Holy book contains humorous anecdotes and sexist jokes
A pure pervert who’s more covert than CIA
Spitting prescription forms so you’ll see it my way
I sleep in the day
Wake-up get weed on the way
Put the bid and press play I need a reason to stay
I write scriptures, developed into dark light pictures
I type vicious you bitches know who’s my guesses
Yeah I got a slight sickness for chicks in tight breaches
And swimmin' in 'em like vicious
So if they wish to seeing pictures of themselves on my next whack turner
pressing plan
They should get their chest enhanced or breast implants
I’m having sex with tramps in Guess jeans pants
Puffed the freshest plants now my ex is mad
Cause I step to 'em like «Can I get this dance ?»
Off to the mistress, some wives be stressed with cramps
I’m the best in the camp
Jason from crystal lake, with a twist of fate
I don’t flow I precipitate
And I initiate, and also, and watch you while you stuff the poison pasta in your face
Taste the botulism, disgraceful communism, we’ll cum into your beer and take
the pot you piss in