(Funkmaster Flex)
Oh, we gotta put the f*ckin' camera on that joint (Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around, see the room (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
We should literally put that shit right here and just let it spin (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Around the room, you know what I mean? (Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherf*cker Tarantino, dawn 'til dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up, my man?"
I need some raw shit and he recommended the Tascam
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 f*ckin' blow like Hiroshim'
I'm on the scene, never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit, get hit quick
Give a f*ck what you talkin' 'bout, y'all can suck my dick (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla, Madlib, MadGic comin' soon, shit (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I get the pussy wetter than a monsoon hit, y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap, I don't cap (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I do this for the love of hip-hop, I don't rap
Open up your chest like EMS light (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Who the best? Don't give a f*ck but don't test my mic
It's Logic (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
(Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Haha, hey, yo, yo, I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Classic like turntables, beatbox and floppy diskettes
A young Tom Cruise is with me and we're risky business
I delivered more gifts to game than a thousand Christmases
Pssht, like a yellow jacket, teamed with those metal ratchets
Spin your head back like DJ Scratch about to scratch it
Smack the fader, the rappers saber swings, decapitates you
Leave your couch stained like Jheri curl activator
Soul Glo, Soul Train, voice blow like Coltrane
Boomerang 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, it's no thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days, leave your mind astray
Even with application maps, they can't find the way
Back to pure hip-hop tracks, Marley Marl, Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap, and Large B, please, ha
Logic - Porta one Lyrics
Logic - Porta one Lyrics
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(Funkmaster Flex)
Oh, we gotta put the f*ckin' camera on that joint (Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around, see the room (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
We should literally put that shit right here and just let it spin (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Around the room, you know what I mean? (Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherf*cker Tarantino, dawn 'til dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up, my man?"
I need some raw shit and he recommended the Tascam
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 f*ckin' blow like Hiroshim'
I'm on the scene, never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit, get hit quick
Give a f*ck what you talkin' 'bout, y'all can suck my dick (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla, Madlib, MadGic comin' soon, shit (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I get the pussy wetter than a monsoon hit, y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap, I don't cap (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I do this for the love of hip-hop, I don't rap
Open up your chest like EMS light (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Who the best? Don't give a f*ck but don't test my mic
It's Logic (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
(Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Haha, hey, yo, yo, I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Classic like turntables, beatbox and floppy diskettes
A young Tom Cruise is with me and we're risky business
I delivered more gifts to game than a thousand Christmases
Pssht, like a yellow jacket, teamed with those metal ratchets
Spin your head back like DJ Scratch about to scratch it
Smack the fader, the rappers saber swings, decapitates you
Leave your couch stained like Jheri curl activator
Soul Glo, Soul Train, voice blow like Coltrane
Boomerang 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, it's no thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days, leave your mind astray
Even with application maps, they can't find the way
Back to pure hip-hop tracks, Marley Marl, Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap, and Large B, please, ha
Oh, we gotta put the f*ckin' camera on that joint (Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around, see the room (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
We should literally put that shit right here and just let it spin (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Around the room, you know what I mean? (Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherf*cker Tarantino, dawn 'til dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up, my man?"
I need some raw shit and he recommended the Tascam
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 f*ckin' blow like Hiroshim'
I'm on the scene, never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit, get hit quick
Give a f*ck what you talkin' 'bout, y'all can suck my dick (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla, Madlib, MadGic comin' soon, shit (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I get the pussy wetter than a monsoon hit, y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap, I don't cap (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
I do this for the love of hip-hop, I don't rap
Open up your chest like EMS light (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Who the best? Don't give a f*ck but don't test my mic
It's Logic (bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
(Bring the motherf*ckin' ruckus)
Haha, hey, yo, yo, I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Classic like turntables, beatbox and floppy diskettes
A young Tom Cruise is with me and we're risky business
I delivered more gifts to game than a thousand Christmases
Pssht, like a yellow jacket, teamed with those metal ratchets
Spin your head back like DJ Scratch about to scratch it
Smack the fader, the rappers saber swings, decapitates you
Leave your couch stained like Jheri curl activator
Soul Glo, Soul Train, voice blow like Coltrane
Boomerang 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, it's no thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days, leave your mind astray
Even with application maps, they can't find the way
Back to pure hip-hop tracks, Marley Marl, Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap, and Large B, please, ha
Writer: Robert Bryson Hall II, Arjun Ivatury, David Axelrod, Robert Diggs
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC