Logic No Biggie song lyrics

[Intro:]

Yeah, my name is Riley, son

But you know what niggas call me?

AKA, Riley Escobar, know what I'm saying?

Cause I be in the streets you know?

I got all kinds of names like HR Paper Stacks

Uh, also known as AKA Horse Choker, uh

[Verse 1: Logic]

Hey, yo, I'll chop you up in sixteen pieces

In front of your nieces, while I'm eating Reese's

And won't even offer them any, yes I spit plenty

This is East Coast flow at its finest

In the studio, where you find us, put a bullet where your spine is

At sixteen I was skipping school and smoking chronic

While you was learning about English, Big L was teaching Ebonics

I spit fire so demonic, writing code like I'm Masonite

A Jedi master breaking it down like old plaster

No medication for this track cause this is how a psycho rips

My bank account is like a cino bolt, your pocket's microchips, uh

Motherfucker, I dare you to test it, hope you're well rested

Whoop your ass and get arrested, in a double breasted

Louis Vuitton diamond encrested tailor made suit

Now that's All Sinatra Everything

I explode like hollow tips on contact

Chronologically murder schmoe there's no bringing Joe back

Puffing cubans and sipping Cognac

Mafietic mentality, introduce me to this beat and it's fatality

I kill mics like Conrad Murray

Sharp like Hanzo steel, the rest is obtuse

I get loose when sipping Goose and rhyme like Doc Seuss

Flow tight like noose, whoop ass like Bruce, no time for a truce

Alphabetical mathematic addict

I spit sixteens so erratic you think it was a semi-automatic

I know by now you thinking "Oh my God, he let them have it"

But that was just a loan, time to collect like I'm Capone

Reep what I've sewn, in other words that is the throne

Chilling while homies smoking marijuan'

If you thinking that this shit is wack well then you're dead wrong

Cause for every emotion and every mood I have a song

For the club, for the streets, for the whip and for the sheets

Cause this is where intellect and versatility meets

I'm Young Sinatra, backstage chilling with BobbySoxers

I got ya

[Outro:]

Yeah!

You wanna fuck with us?!

Fuck with us, yeah!?