Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Logic
Logic
Vocals
No ID
No ID
Programming
Maneesh Bidaye
Maneesh Bidaye
Keyboards
Little Bobby
Little Bobby
Additional Vocals
Tramayne "TMAN" Hudson
Tramayne "TMAN" Hudson
Additional Vocals
Anna Elyse Palchikoff
Anna Elyse Palchikoff
Additional Vocals
Anna Elyse
Anna Elyse
Vocals
Steve Blum
Steve Blum
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Maneesh Bidaye
Maneesh Bidaye
Songwriter
Little Bobby
Little Bobby
Songwriter
Sir Robert Bryson Hall II
Sir Robert Bryson Hall II
Songwriter
Ernest Wilson
Ernest Wilson
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
No ID
No ID
Producer
Maneesh Bidaye
Maneesh Bidaye
Producer
Bobby Campbell
Bobby Campbell
Mixing Engineer
Little Bobby
Little Bobby
Recording Engineer

Lyrics

You wanna learn your ABCs, little Bobby? Yeah? You wanna learn your ABCs? Yeah? Yeah, let's do it Yeah, ayy, I been real that's all I ever knew how to be Fuck what you heard, I only write what I see Second I deploy, I destroy 'til the tank on E The underdog, they wouldn't bank on me F 'em all, I feel the beat in my heart like cholesterol, check the EKG HNIC, ain't nobody flyer then me Not a single one of you that I know conspire to be I hit the J and get as high as can be Okay, maybe not as high as can be I'm a businessman, I got important people to see Mainly No I.D. cooking up in studio D That underground shit, L train across town shit This that Nas, it's like Queensbridge, king, crown shit Study my lyricism whenever you and your friends meet I got enough M's in the bank to make ends meet Oh, my God, get gritty, '96 P Diddy, settin' fire to the city Keep it real, keep it true, sicker then the flu You can smoke government dope and not get higher then my IQ Are you ready? I'm calm my arms are steady I'm armed and ready, digging in you like a machete Surprise, confetti You going to need more than bed rest When I hit you with these 26 bullets, no excess I never went to school, never went to MIT But my imagination is out of this world like MIB Who are you to me? These other rappers envy me The MVP, born and raised in MD, get it B Don't get it confused, fuck the style everyone use Switch up the rhythm every track, flows, I never double use X marks the spot, every day I give what I got That's why I'm on top, steady running shit and you not You steadily flop, every album steadily drop Think you can do it 'cause I do it? Come now, boy, better stop Trying to take me out? My advice is aim for the top I know I make rapping look easy, but promise it's not Bob's Demo 2005 Take one, yo I set my sh- Nah, on the second thought I can't play this Come on, play it, man Play that shit, man Come on, nigga, play that shit Never one to flip scripts I'm more raw then imaginary rubbers Rain in the gutter, my talented knife cutter Always flowing venomous, never rolling in regiments Whippin' riddles, intelligence, you copy then we settle it Possibilities is endless, you'll never catch me pen-less Suicidal lyrics, controvers' like stem-cell research Ain't no time to compromise, my rhymes immortalized Visualize as I vocalize, worldly lies, that we're hypnotized Staring into space like the Enterprise Contemplating on words that shall arise Mentality merciless, never sympathize Yeah Smoking weed in gazebos, incognito Attracting more microphones than Magneto and that's real Blunts keep rolling like bitches on E pills
Writer(s): Robert Bryson Hall Ii, Maneesh Bidaye, Ernest Wilson, Robert Bryson Hall Iii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out