Old Logic

Uh, yo, uh, yeah, uh
As you see, my
Listen up
Here's news in the making
Uh, yeah, uh, yo, listen up
What goes la-la-la?

Ayo, I chop you up in sixteen pieces in front of your nieces
While I'm eatin' Reese's, and won't even offer a Lenny
Yes, I spit plenty, this is East Coast flow at its finest
In the studio where you'll find us, put a bullet where your spine is
At sixteen, I was skippin' school and smokin' chronic
While you was learnin' 'bout English, Big L was teachin' ebonics
I spit fire so demonic, writin' code like I'm Masonic
A Jedi Master, breakin' shit down like old plaster
No medication for this track 'cause this is how a psycho rips
My bank account is like Casino Ho, your pockets microchips
Uh, motherfucker, I dare you to test it, hope you're well rested
Whoop your ass and get arrested in a double-breasted
Louis Vuitton diamond encrusted tailor-made suit
Now that's all Sinatra, everything
I explode like hollow tips on contact
Chronologically murder schmoes, there's no bringin' Joe back
Puffin' Cubans and sippin' Cognac
Mafiatic mentality, introduce me to this beat and it's fatality
I kill mics like Conrad Murray
Sharp like Hanzo steel, the rest is obtuse
I get loose when sippin' Goose and rhyme like Doc Seuss
Flow tight like noose, whoop ass like Bruce, no time for a truce
Alphabetical mathematic addict, I spit sixteens so erratic
You'd think it was a semi-automatic
I know by now you're thinkin', "Oh my God, he let 'em have it"
But that was just a loan, time to collect like I'm Capone
Reap what I've sown, in other words, that is the throne
Chillin' while homie's smokin' marijuan'
If you thinkin' that this shit is wack, well, then you're dead wrong
'Cause for every emotion and every mood, I have a song
For the club, for the streets, for the whip, and for the sheets
'Cause this is where intellect and versatility meets
I'm young Sinatra, backstage chillin' with Bobby Soxers, I got ya

No logic
No logic
No logic
Listen up
No logic

Thirty-five is awesome but he closer to the coffin
Quit vapin' and stop coughin', rest in
Peace to the villain, I'm Andy Kaufman
Foot on the gas, niggas mad 'cause I passed
Black to the future, in her clut like a suture
Straight to the gut, kombucha
Fuck a cape, fuck her 'til she gape, then inseminate, ain't great?
Tour bus, state to state, we integrate
Take fifteen-year-old vocals and then incorporate
The same voice for the later date
Nincompoop, just let the haters hate
If you feel like it's no longer your house, then migrate
Don't fight with him, do your best to find hindsight with him
Speak out of turn and I might hit him
His muse, it always write with him
His right hand was fly like right wing
End the rhyme with a joint from Spike
Lee, yeah, that's Do the Right Thing
He might rage, he might bust out his six string and sing
He's sick in the head 'cause old Logic is dead
This is old Logic and old Logic on the same track instead
Week to week, it's been a different peep, some might say it's weak
No calendars, you fell off and went
Broke and now ain't got no balances
Uh, you never seen nothin', heh, like this thing
Grab the pen and I'm gonna write this thing
Fantastic Four, fantastic beats and where to find more
Mother was a whore, prostitute galore
Still made him do his chores
Screamin' at him with a mouth full of sores
Low danger, goddamn, I hate anger
Arrested development from the plantation to the settlement
Forty acres and a mule, want reparations, fuck school
It's just a pneumatic tool
He a nomadic fool, Xanny bars until he drool
Scared to fly, rather carpool through this tunnel syndrome
It's awfully disgusting, he's so old, he's rusting
But young in life, pull the trigger, take a youngin' life
Gunfight with a knife, ah, strife
Phantom of the synth, some Caesar to these chimps
Who wants to die? Switch it up like a chick who was once a guy
Me and my brothers writin', stay fly
Grab the.45 caliber while it's bustin'
Goddamn, this is Logic at thirty-five, it's so disgusting, ah

No logic
No logic
No logic
No logic
Listen up