Logic - DadBod lyrics

Yeah, yeah hahaha
Ayy

Chillin' with the homies at the crib
Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live
 you ain't know about it
Hit the studio with No ID​
Make a couple platinum records in that
Bitch and then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home
Feed your son, " girl, don't trip about it
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy
Don't give me lip about it

I'm a dad, this my life
This the type of shit I write
I was hungry in the basement, now that boy
He full of life smoking dope, high as a kite
Only when that babysitter at the crib, though


Take my shorty to Nobu and dig
Up in her rib though, ayy, yeah
(Take my shorty to Nobu and dig
Up in her rib though, yeah)
'Cause back in my day it was food stamps
And I love my wife like I am Chance
I bet you'd rap about the shit
Me and him rap about
If you had ever made it out
But you ain't never had the chance
Uh, uh, circumstance uh, uh, way of life
Uh, uh, my decisions uh, uh, made 'em right

Chillin' with the homies at the crib
Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live
You ain't know about it
Hit the studio with No ID​
Make a couple platinum records in that bitch
And then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home
Feed your son, " girl, don't trip about it
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy
Don't give me lip about it (Ayy, ayy)

I've upgraded while they waited
Will they love it, will they hate it?
Who gives a fuck though?
Rappers praying they next
This shit is cutthroat
I'm livin' on another planet
My manic depression make me
Constantly wanna panic
I'm stressing on stage
Pretendin' everybody undressing
I think I'll never learn my
Lesson, but fuck it all, it doesn't matter
Ayo, I'm on a lyrical, poetic rhetoric
Lyrical miracle, satirical shit
If you don't like my conscious rap
You won't like my material shit
Love him or hate him
Everybody know Logic can spit
Used to be up to date
On that rap political shit
But nowadays I'm up to my elbows
And every single inch of my
Body in my baby's shit
I could tell you more about diapers
Than modern rappers in cyphers
I used to be about the
B-Rabbit's and Mekhi Phifers hit the stage
Grip the mic and murder you like a pro-lifer
But I'm done now, I got a son now
Fuck the rap game, I'm done now

Chillin' with the homies at the crib
Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live
You ain't know about it
Hit the studio with No ID​
Make a couple platinum records in that bitch
And then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home
Feed your son, " girl, don't trip about it
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy
Don't give me lip about it

They say that that boy done changed
He don't rap about his everyday life
He ain't the same
Goddamn, already had a hard life once
Am I supposed to recreate it every
Album for you cunts? Okay
You want to hear about my everyday
I wake up, I wake my son up, then I feed him
And lead him into his car seat
Drive up the street down to Target
Don't do hard drugs or beat my wife
But the paparazzi still wanna start shit
I don't answer their questions, I
Leave 'em in the dark, bitch
Then I walk through the automatic doors
A couple fans spot me but, shit
I ain't on tour i ain't trying to ignore her
But I head to aisle four 'cause
My drawers stank as fuck
And I need some new drawers
Then I spot some more fans
Stan hella hardcore (Can I have a picture?)
Asking for a pic and I say sure
Scratch my dick and shake his hand
Shaking uncontrollably
He tells me I'm the man
Now I'm headed to aisle three
For some Bounty paper towels
I also grab some wet wipes to
Clean the shit from my bowels
A really hot girl walks by with a fat ass
But I'm just wondering if Hefty
Really holds the most trash
Forgot my card at home
Thank God I brought some cash
Then I grab some Preparation H for
The critics up my ass
Head to aisle five for some Sgt smash cereal
Is this want you wanted
Everyday life material?
I'm not a kid anymore and
Be sure shit's boring
Made it out the basement
Now my bank account soaring
Most exciting part of my
Life is probably touring don't get me wrong
I love fans in every single city
But hotels suck and the internet is shitty
I mean, why rap about everyday shit
When I could murder punch lines
And sound dope like this?

Chillin' with the homies at the crib
Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live
You ain't know about it
Hit the studio with No ID​
Make a couple platinum records in that bitch
And then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home
Feed your son, " girl, don't trip about it
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy
Don't give me lip about it

Hello, no one is available to take your call
Please leave a message after the tone
Bro, call me back
We couldn't get the fuckin' Super sample
Cleared again, so fuckin' annoying, bro
But honestly, i just say that we chop up
The Toro y Moi joint
That we were gonna put on Ultra 85
And just like flip
Fuckin' freak the shit outta that joint
I think it could be crazy
Call me back, I'ma chop it up on the MPC
Here I go