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lirik lagu don’t you even go there – louis logic

[lauryn hill x2: au contraire mon frere, don’t you even go there]

how you doin’? my name’s louis, first of all, i make stupid music
for losers and beer abusers, screw ups and human sewers
i’m a cesspool myself with a head full of wealth-y
rich and sick sh-t thoughts that helps me to sell cds
i mastered in givin’ n-gg-s gasps
as if asthma is constrictin’ to clog the blunt p-ssages
act as if you don’t want an -ss whippin, see?
sometimes bein’ a p-ssy can have it’s advantages
isn’t it glamorous to get your -sses beat
by one of the last emcees, ’til your cancellin’ seats?
if the fans disagree, i make house calls
you keep it up, it’ll be tough bustin’ nuts without b-lls
i’m just an outlaw who doesn’t belong
so strong i make my own squad look dumb on our songs
so when i put one of ’em on, n-gg-s get so mad
i had to get a car system with a headphone jack

[lauryn hill x4: au contraire mon frere, don’t you even go there]

[apathy:]
i’ve existed for eons, peons run, even three-on-one
my rhymes outshine like i got a neon tongue
in battle i’m gifted, it’s like i’m cata-calysmic
the baddest to spit it, my optics read data and digits
like i’m neo when i master the matrix, faster than sp-ceships
{futuristic flow} but bring it back to the basics
i’m a flow fanatic, memory is photographic
when i was a little sperm, blasted out the prophylactic
now i blow the static off your dusty phonograph
{ap’s about to blow} like the noses on some c-ke addicts
you wack jokes’ll get your back broke
cause i keep it gangsta like ice cube with jheri curls and black locs
fast to blast like white teens in black coats
walkin’ in math cl-ss and clap till the gat smokes
your girl jocks me and clocks me like a track coach
you thought you had a doper flow, {ha! } i don’t think so

[lauryn hill x4: au contraire mon frere, don’t you even go there]

[celph t-tled:]
{yo}
you can call the feds and the army or the f-ckin’ navy
but you can’t stop a wild animal hungry with rabies {grrrr… }
and i’m just that, while you sayin’ you got gats c-cked
your whole platoon is lookin’ like the mister softee mascot
i give a f-ck if you believe it or not
i’ll rip ripley’s limbs off and beat ’em with ’em till ‘is body drops
it ain’t a question if this sh-t is the bomb
i’ll choke your b-tch with a thong and dump ‘er off on your lawn
it’s funny the way i lick shots off in the sound booth
i’m so hilarious i pull walk-bys in a clown suit
my n-gg-s keep it gator
and while your alb-m’s in stores now, it’s in the trash can later
i hate a f-ckin’ emcee who think that they can face the god celph t-tled
i’d rather use a rifle than a microphone to snipe you
certified officially, we got the i’ll flow
and make headlines like a corduroy pillow

[lauryn hill x4: au contraire mon frere, don’t you even go there]

- louis logic

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