Brock Human, Louis Logic - Service the Target lyrics
[Brock Human, Louis Logic - Service the Target lyrics]
My name is Grand Agent check check it out
I'm down wit Jim Slade
He's down wit Louis Logic
Jim Slade, Grand Agent, Louis Logic
Service the target
Where it hurt the most we hit the hardest
Point blank range aimin at them artist
Your game ain't up to par
It's time we turned lames into martyrs
I got a thing for potent words like cocaine
Inside the flow game
They don't know how to show shame
Additional instrumentation ain't it, sane it
Strictly words and ventilation when
I paint it
Famous as Footwear gear, plane as Goodyear
Black and well-rounded, sales plaques mounted
Invite your dialouge, demigods to the dome
Leave a classic example on the
Porch if I ain't home then BOOM
I bloom just like breasts in the pre-pubesce
Easy now, who you test?
MC who stress me, arrest me cardiac
Stat like 'where the party at, black?'
Now it's in your back
Then insert the knife like the earth so good
Inside his wife, drink my flow
It's a way of life
Victory, it be the standard for me
I'm on some "I'm better than
The rest of y'all" as far as Grand can see
Nuttin but smut, now you watchin me
Butt-fuck doctrines clockin me
Through factory systems
Did you actually listen?
Or am I gonna have to return like
I ain't burn you up sufficient
Turn me up when I be bitchin
My style is decision
Something like a violent Christian
With a molavision
Turn me up when I be bitchin
My style is decision
Something like a violent Christian
With a molavision service the target
I walk up in a strange person's department
With the purpose of startin
A fire that burns up your
Carpet and murders your market
Campaign strategist like a murderous arsonist
Whose brain passages resemble
Insane activists
It's gonna take alot of band-aids
And governmental mandates to
Save your fanbase when Louis Logic slayed
And Grand Agent put the heat to the beat
MC's get so weak in the
Knees they need to retreat
This is warfare, combat
That switches sportswear
On contact, to your ears when we on tracks
The effect to this is stronger
Than the head that spins in the Exorcist
Or cigarettes and gin on a pregnant chick
Somebody's bound to die
My record company's out to hide
Something about this guy
They say "Logic's such a character
He'll probably just embarass ya"
That's why I'll never get the fuck wit Arista
Plus my manager thinks that I drink too much
I probably think too much
Of morbid things and such
Like ringin sluts' necks
I'm a suspect to the crime scene
Retired green wit my team
Spillin vats of Visine
I got a dirty mouth, but I practice hygiene
What I mean by that is
Cats will catch a cursing-out
With the maximum curse amount
In a verse allowed
I don't worry 'bout puttin
Fuckin clean versions out chorus
I'm down wit Jim Slade
He's down wit Louis Logic
Jim Slade, Grand Agent, Louis Logic
Service the target
Where it hurt the most we hit the hardest
Point blank range aimin at them artist
Your game ain't up to par
It's time we turned lames into martyrs
I got a thing for potent words like cocaine
Inside the flow game
They don't know how to show shame
Additional instrumentation ain't it, sane it
Strictly words and ventilation when
I paint it
Famous as Footwear gear, plane as Goodyear
Black and well-rounded, sales plaques mounted
Invite your dialouge, demigods to the dome
Leave a classic example on the
Porch if I ain't home then BOOM
I bloom just like breasts in the pre-pubesce
Easy now, who you test?
MC who stress me, arrest me cardiac
Stat like 'where the party at, black?'
Now it's in your back
Then insert the knife like the earth so good
Inside his wife, drink my flow
It's a way of life
Victory, it be the standard for me
I'm on some "I'm better than
The rest of y'all" as far as Grand can see
Nuttin but smut, now you watchin me
Butt-fuck doctrines clockin me
Through factory systems
Did you actually listen?
Or am I gonna have to return like
I ain't burn you up sufficient
Turn me up when I be bitchin
My style is decision
Something like a violent Christian
With a molavision
Turn me up when I be bitchin
My style is decision
Something like a violent Christian
With a molavision service the target
I walk up in a strange person's department
With the purpose of startin
A fire that burns up your
Carpet and murders your market
Campaign strategist like a murderous arsonist
Whose brain passages resemble
Insane activists
It's gonna take alot of band-aids
And governmental mandates to
Save your fanbase when Louis Logic slayed
And Grand Agent put the heat to the beat
MC's get so weak in the
Knees they need to retreat
This is warfare, combat
That switches sportswear
On contact, to your ears when we on tracks
The effect to this is stronger
Than the head that spins in the Exorcist
Or cigarettes and gin on a pregnant chick
Somebody's bound to die
My record company's out to hide
Something about this guy
They say "Logic's such a character
He'll probably just embarass ya"
That's why I'll never get the fuck wit Arista
Plus my manager thinks that I drink too much
I probably think too much
Of morbid things and such
Like ringin sluts' necks
I'm a suspect to the crime scene
Retired green wit my team
Spillin vats of Visine
I got a dirty mouth, but I practice hygiene
What I mean by that is
Cats will catch a cursing-out
With the maximum curse amount
In a verse allowed
I don't worry 'bout puttin
Fuckin clean versions out chorus