Logic - Capital Freestyle lyrics
Logic [Sir Robert Bryson Hall II] Rockville, Maryland, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Logic - Capital Freestyle lyrics]
Yo it's Tim Westwood TV
Going back in with my man Logic
From the crib, to Capital Xtra let's go fam!
Alright, oh man
I'mma fuck this up, here we go
Check, ch-check, ch-check yeah, yeah, yeah
Okay, now take a trip inside my mind
Like you was off to Venice
It’s me and B-IG L-N-B-O
Cooking like chemists
Take them back to way back when like Dennis
The Menace causing mayhem on the come up
Like a young apprentice
Smoking weed and getting higher
Than a flight attendant
Hip-hop descendant, gold Jesus on my pendant
Got to pull it out for
Everyone that’s in attendance
Okay, back in the day as
A College Park tenant
Still can’t believe I didn’t
Get a shorty pregnant
Man, that’s the definition of a life sentence
A whole lot of beef, no bread, no lettuce
Cause I couldn’t keep it in my briefs
Man that’s pathetic
Fuck all that back and forth
This ain’t a game of tennis
I'll be in my mothafuckin'
Chamber like the senate
Scared to go outside but I
Know I can’t prevent it
I'm, forever alone in my mind
See I’m a self diagnosed hypochondriac
Either at the crib
Or on the tour bus is where you'll find me at
I swear that I got it, yes I got it over here
But I swear that I'm not
That neurotic over here
Check it, s'over here check
It, s'over here tougher
S'over here check it
I said tougher than raw denim
My flow you can't identify
Talib said it best back in the day
We just tryna get by
Two words, Mos Def, in my headphones
Black on one side, now I'm in another zone
Switch flows, fuck 'em up
Play the game, run 'em up
Yeah I sold a couple records but
People don't give a fuck
All the people want is real
Guess that's why Logic appeal
Hold up tell me how that feel, holdie to the
Racism on television and in magazines
Paying taxes so soldiers don't
Run out of magazines, god damn
Country don't give a fuck who I am
Just a youngin' on the rise with
A mic in my hand
Check it, yeah, so check it, so check it
I gotta spit it, gotta rip it
I gotta keep it goin'
I'm flowin' strictly off of the top
Of the dome, they knowin', can I get it?
The L-O-G-IC I'm reppin' M-D
I said it once I said it twince
I gotta check it yeah
I know something is wrong
I know something is wrong
I know something is wrong
I can tell in this song
I'm feeling hella faded no I never evade it
The second I get it I spit it, I rip it
I gotta do it yeah
We on and on, we on this Westwood
Feelin' hella good jumped across the pond
Word is born when I spit it
Let this motherfucker drop the bomb
Shit is hella crazy, we out in London
Where we come from this is how we do it
Get it done yeah and then some
What you call me? They know the name
I gotta spit the game
This is how we do it, Visionary Music Group
All the day, V's up
Plus that Def Jam, I know who I am
I'm the motherfucking man
God damn yes it's Logic
Cool, I'm feeling good with that swag
Going back in with my man Logic
From the crib, to Capital Xtra let's go fam!
Alright, oh man
I'mma fuck this up, here we go
Check, ch-check, ch-check yeah, yeah, yeah
Okay, now take a trip inside my mind
Like you was off to Venice
It’s me and B-IG L-N-B-O
Cooking like chemists
Take them back to way back when like Dennis
The Menace causing mayhem on the come up
Like a young apprentice
Smoking weed and getting higher
Than a flight attendant
Hip-hop descendant, gold Jesus on my pendant
Got to pull it out for
Everyone that’s in attendance
Okay, back in the day as
A College Park tenant
Still can’t believe I didn’t
Get a shorty pregnant
Man, that’s the definition of a life sentence
A whole lot of beef, no bread, no lettuce
Cause I couldn’t keep it in my briefs
Man that’s pathetic
Fuck all that back and forth
This ain’t a game of tennis
I'll be in my mothafuckin'
Chamber like the senate
Scared to go outside but I
Know I can’t prevent it
I'm, forever alone in my mind
See I’m a self diagnosed hypochondriac
Either at the crib
Or on the tour bus is where you'll find me at
I swear that I got it, yes I got it over here
But I swear that I'm not
That neurotic over here
Check it, s'over here check
It, s'over here tougher
S'over here check it
I said tougher than raw denim
My flow you can't identify
Talib said it best back in the day
We just tryna get by
Two words, Mos Def, in my headphones
Black on one side, now I'm in another zone
Switch flows, fuck 'em up
Play the game, run 'em up
Yeah I sold a couple records but
People don't give a fuck
All the people want is real
Guess that's why Logic appeal
Hold up tell me how that feel, holdie to the
Racism on television and in magazines
Paying taxes so soldiers don't
Run out of magazines, god damn
Country don't give a fuck who I am
Just a youngin' on the rise with
A mic in my hand
Check it, yeah, so check it, so check it
I gotta spit it, gotta rip it
I gotta keep it goin'
I'm flowin' strictly off of the top
Of the dome, they knowin', can I get it?
The L-O-G-IC I'm reppin' M-D
I said it once I said it twince
I gotta check it yeah
I know something is wrong
I know something is wrong
I know something is wrong
I can tell in this song
I'm feeling hella faded no I never evade it
The second I get it I spit it, I rip it
I gotta do it yeah
We on and on, we on this Westwood
Feelin' hella good jumped across the pond
Word is born when I spit it
Let this motherfucker drop the bomb
Shit is hella crazy, we out in London
Where we come from this is how we do it
Get it done yeah and then some
What you call me? They know the name
I gotta spit the game
This is how we do it, Visionary Music Group
All the day, V's up
Plus that Def Jam, I know who I am
I'm the motherfucking man
God damn yes it's Logic
Cool, I'm feeling good with that swag