RZA, Logic - Porta One lyrics
Logic [Sir Robert Bryson Hall II] Rockville, Maryland, U.S. 🇺🇸
[RZA, Logic - Porta One lyrics]
(Funkmaster Flex)
Oh, we gotta fuckin' flick the
Camera on and shit
(Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around and see the room
(Funkmaster Flex)
We should literally put that shit right
Here and just let it spin
Around the room, you know what I mean?
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherfucker Tarantino
Dawn Till Dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up
My man?"
I need some raw shit and
He recommended the tuscan
I'm talkin' hip-hop shit straight to tape
He did the Salad Days demos on
It and it sounded great
Any real musician listenin' can relate
I feel like the RZA recording in '88
Prince Rakim, I fuckin' blow like Herashim'
I'm on the scene
Never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit
Get hit quick
Give a fuck what you talkin' 'bout
Y'all can suck my dick
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla
Madlib, MadGic comin' soon
Shit
I get the pussy wetter than her masseuse hit
Y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap
I don't cap
I do this for the love of hip-hop
I don't rap
Open up your chest like the immense slide
Who the best? Don't give a fuck
But don't test my mic
It's Logic
Haha, ayo-yo
I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Passin' like turntables
Beatbox and floppy biscuit's
A young Tom movin' with me
And it's risky business
I delivered more gangsta to game
Than Father Christmas is
Like a yellow jacket
Teens with those little ratches
Spin your head back like you taste
Scratch up out the scratches
Smack defamer, the rappers say what brings
Decapitate you
Leave your cow stain like Gerico activator
Sold blow, sold drank
Voice blow like cold drink
Boomerang it back to the track
Push your hair back
You need more than Rogaine, no pain, no game
Like Patti LaBelle say, but me and Logic
No thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days leave your mind astray
Even with application maps
They can't find a way
Blah, the pure hip-hop tracks, Marty Mall
Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap
And Large B, please
Ha
Oh, we gotta fuckin' flick the
Camera on and shit
(Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around and see the room
(Funkmaster Flex)
We should literally put that shit right
Here and just let it spin
Around the room, you know what I mean?
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherfucker Tarantino
Dawn Till Dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up
My man?"
I need some raw shit and
He recommended the tuscan
I'm talkin' hip-hop shit straight to tape
He did the Salad Days demos on
It and it sounded great
Any real musician listenin' can relate
I feel like the RZA recording in '88
Prince Rakim, I fuckin' blow like Herashim'
I'm on the scene
Never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit
Get hit quick
Give a fuck what you talkin' 'bout
Y'all can suck my dick
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla
Madlib, MadGic comin' soon
Shit
I get the pussy wetter than her masseuse hit
Y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap
I don't cap
I do this for the love of hip-hop
I don't rap
Open up your chest like the immense slide
Who the best? Don't give a fuck
But don't test my mic
It's Logic
Haha, ayo-yo
I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Passin' like turntables
Beatbox and floppy biscuit's
A young Tom movin' with me
And it's risky business
I delivered more gangsta to game
Than Father Christmas is
Like a yellow jacket
Teens with those little ratches
Spin your head back like you taste
Scratch up out the scratches
Smack defamer, the rappers say what brings
Decapitate you
Leave your cow stain like Gerico activator
Sold blow, sold drank
Voice blow like cold drink
Boomerang it back to the track
Push your hair back
You need more than Rogaine, no pain, no game
Like Patti LaBelle say, but me and Logic
No thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days leave your mind astray
Even with application maps
They can't find a way
Blah, the pure hip-hop tracks, Marty Mall
Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap
And Large B, please
Ha