Teledysk

Kredyty

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Logic
Logic
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Harold.Lane.David
Harold.Lane.David
Songwriter
Burt Bacharach
Burt Bacharach
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Logic
Logic
Recording Engineer
C.Sick
C.Sick
Producer
Bobby Campbell
Bobby Campbell
Mixing Engineer
Dave Kutch
Dave Kutch
Mastering Engineer

Tekst Utworu

Is it still, is it going? (Yeah, yeah) Alright, so we gon' do this one like for the RattPack and shit Is it recording? Alright, for the real hip-hop motherfuckers, you know what I'm sayin'? Yeah, yeah, shout out to Bobby, my engineer It's a nice night in L.A. We're recordin' this mixtape and shit Workin' on the album at the same time You know what I'm sayin'? Visionary boy Yeah-yeah, uh, yeah, we gon' do it for '96 (yeah) We gon' do it for hip-hop (yeah, second renaissance type shit, check it) Who would have thought that painting pictures 'bout being broke Would get me riches, like dealing coke? Like big brother used to do so we could stay afloat I heard them guns outside my window, them gangsters would tote Thought about the life I wanted, picked up the pen and then wrote While they was firing, you could hear sirens From people dialing and women crying in the phone I was in the zone, trying to make a living Heading to work in the morning Everyday felt like I was mourning, as my dream was deceased Until I quit my job, then my work ethic increased Elevated to levels I ain't ever seen Stacking this cream, living the American dream now I'm going crazy, I ain't slept in days Dreaming of Michael Jordan money like I slept in J's Always shouting out my team 'cause I get all the plays But they the ones that motivate me on depressing days See, I'm from Maryland where cats draw gats like animation From the smallest altercation, that can lead to termination With a rapper on every corner, like the rest of the nation Passing bars back and forth like legal examinations As a youngin', I was running wild Me and my homies skipping school, puffing on that loud Doing shit just to do it, 'cause we wasn't allowed I thought I understood the world, but I was still a child, yeah Now when my mama was at home drinking, thinking 'bout the bills I was dreaming 'bout the mills, running round looking for thrills I guess this is how it feels when your memory spills onto the page And paints a picture of another age Back in West Deer Park, chilling with shorties after dark 'Cause when the sun is down, the police always want us down 'Til we get older and hustle, now they tryna gun us down We just trying to make a living off of what we've been given Wassup Walk on by Walk on by Walk on (uh, yeah) They call me Logic, yeah that's L-O-G-I-C I ain't wrapped up in them bitches, I just write 'bout shit I see 'Cause these lyrics set me free, fuck the world, let me be And when I feel like I can't write, that's when I hit the M.P.C. My talent limitless, but time limited so listen up If you can't see the shit I see, you better get your vision up I'm the king, watch me reign, born to rule my domain Album ain't even in stores, they tryna sue me for my name Shit insane, so berserk, never complained, I just work Chasing after my dreams like them high school skirts Back as a youngin, spitting game, tryna get the nut in Living life to the fullest 'cause them little things ain't nothing My flow unkillable when I be murdering syllables But I take my time, slow it down, check the rhyme, perfectionist to the dime From the womb to the tomb, I be rapping 'til I'm dying Doing everything I love, that's the life of a don Skipping school, sipping liquor, tryna get this money quicker Bad bitches, good weed, that's the type of shit I need Lyrics bleed from my mind state Elevate my mind and watch it rise like the crime rate (crime rate) 'Cause sometimes I be high, and sometimes I be low And sometimes I do shit I thought I'd never do before My life is like a movie role that's starring me, got these women on me I hit the club with all my homies, and the drinks is on me At the crib with the shorty that I met at the spot Pretty eyes, nice lips, Grey Goose what she sips Both my hands on her hips, 'til she puts them on her tits Freak bitch want the dick, biting on her fingertip I only fuck with nice girls, I never do this type of shit I'm thinking 'bout hitting it raw, shit I must be wildin' out But that pussy wet as hell, I think it's time to end the drought Then again she could be burning, and that's not what I'm about So I dipped out, to live another day and die another night 'Cause when I'm gone, that ain't gon' be the song that they recite What up? Walk on by Walk on by Walk on
Writer(s): Burt F. Bacharach, Hal David Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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