Louis Logic - Guilty As Charged 2001 lyrics

Straight up, um
Old people that get offended easily:
Y'all should just get the fuck out now
(Uh, uh, uh, uh, yeah, yeah)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(In 2001, we making hot shit for
These pussy motherfuckers)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(Out there who don't know no different)
What's my name, baby? What's my name, baby?
(You know what I'm saying? Yo, yo, what)
I hate rappers that spit
Nonsense for eight chapters
You might as well play your tape backwards
Safe crackers couldn't get it open like
Logic at an open mic
Signifying like Dolomite on sober nights

But when I'm drunk and pissy
You're seeing something grizzly
Stumbling dizzy with a saturated committee
From the city where the blacks &
Puerto Rocks throw the bolos
Put you in a chokehold and
Blood soak your polo

Til it don't show the logo, ¿Comprende?
Cause if you don't close your blowhole
They'll show up where your hen stays
If anybody's asking for it in the studio
Then you knew this flow could
Be your last recording
I'll leave your DAT distorted (Whyyyyy?)

Cause your rhymes is worthless
You can't finance a purchase with
Your wax in storage (Uh, uh)
My virulent verses would read like
The Bible with curses

I'm guilty as charged
Filthy-ass sergeant of slang
The harder I craft my tracks
The harder they bang
I been talking shit on that guy
Disrespecting this guy
You think I ain't got the balls
You've got to check my dick size

I'm an off-kilter thought spiller
My force built up after
Drinking twenty-four Millers
My day seems twice as short
When I daydream about
Coors-filled cups and cigarettes
With short filters

Oftentimes, I'm lost in rhymes
As if I lost my mind like a
Postman who missed his coffee time
Rappers pissed me off this time
And when I'm pissed off
I wish for the chance to stab
A redneck with a pitchfork

Fuck phone sex, I rape the headset
Bone the switchboard to get off
And spray in excess
So follow the folklore and the
Best you can hope for
Is a broke jaw from a boxer that'll sock your

Like a hostile mobster if
You dropped his pasta
Cursed and sweared the Virgin Mary and
Then you shot his mama
And that's a lot of drama
For the average show
Pack your clothes and leave my
Barrio before you're carried home

When I finally drop an album
I want to see my tape sell
So much I'm eating robust meals
Until my face swells
I'm sick of cold cuts and having to
Take els to pay my bills
I need a deal to make me mils
Or at least enough to quit my day job
That'd suffice and make me feel
I'm back to life, like a seance
Chaos, corruption, and foulness would make a
Lovely Centerpiece on
The lawn in front of your houses

Who's that running his mouth? (It's Logic)
One of the thousands of
Perverts spending time
Looking under chicks' blouses

I ain't the nice guy I once was
I been through a lot of
Beer cans, blunt guts, and dumb sluts
But, if I had the choice
To un-fuck my thinking
My mother'd probably tell you that
Her son stuck with drinking

Well, at least I like to recycle
Only I do it by humping chicks
Then dump the bitch just to be spiteful

So, gentle motherfuckers
I didn't want to be like this, niggas
I'm trying to be a nice guy
But motherfuckers is making me angry, man
Y'all niggas making me sleepy with this shit
Fuck you bang upside your head
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
And the horse you rode in on
I been told y'all before
You slimy motherfuckers
You know what I mean? Louis Logic
Why y'all forcing me to do this shit to y'all
Uh, yo (laughing) yeah