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DadBod

アーティスト：Logic  アルバム：No Pressure  作詞：Sir Robert Bryson Hall II/Arjun Ivatury/Kyle Metcalfe  作曲：Sir Robert Bryson Hall II/Arjun Ivatury/Kyle Metcalfe  発売年：2020 

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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 I.D. 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 her rib though, ayy, yeah (Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up 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 I.D. 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) Operated 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-Rabbits 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 I.D. 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



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