DadBod
๐ต 5268 characters
โฑ๏ธ 4:55 duration
๐ ID: 1065750
๐ Lyrics
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 in her rib though, ayy, yeah
(Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in 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)
I've upgraded 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
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
They say that that boy done changed
He don't rap about his everyday life, he ain't the same
Goddamn, already had a hard life once
Am I supposed to recreate it every album for you cunts? Okay
You want to hear about my everyday
I wake up, I wake my son up, then I feed him
And lead him into his car seat
Drive up the street down to Target
Don't do hard drugs or beat my wife
But the paparazzi still wanna start shit
I don't answer their questions, I leave 'em in the dark, bitch
Then I walk through the automatic doors
A couple fans spot me but, shit, I ain't on tour
I ain't trying to ignore her
But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as fuck
And I need some new drawers
Then I spot some more fans, stan hella hardcore (Can I have a picture?)
Asking for a pic and I say sure
Scratch my dick and shake his hand
Shaking uncontrollably, he tells me I'm the man
Now I'm headed to aisle three for some Bounty paper towels
I also grab some wet wipes to clean the shit from my bowels
A really hot girl walks by with a fat ass
But I'm just wondering if Hefty really holds the most trash
Forgot my card at home, thank God I brought some cash
Then I grab some Preparation H for the critics up my ass
Head to aisle five for some Sgt. Smash cereal
Is this want you wanted, everyday life material?
I'm not a kid anymore and be sure shit's boring
Made it out the basement, now my bank account soaring
Most exciting part of my life is probably touring
Don't get me wrong, I love fans in every single city
But hotels suck and the internet is shitty
I mean, why rap about everyday shit
When I could murder punch lines and sound dope like this?
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
Hello, no one is available to take your call
Please leave a message after the tone
Bro, call me back
We couldn't get the fuckin' Super- sample cleared again, so fuckin' annoying, bro
But honestly, I just say that we chop up the Toro y Moi joint
That we were gonna put on Ultra 85
And just like flip, fuckin' freak the shit outta that joint
I think it could be crazy
Call me back, I'ma chop it up on the MPC
Here I go
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 in her rib though, ayy, yeah
(Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in 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)
I've upgraded 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
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
They say that that boy done changed
He don't rap about his everyday life, he ain't the same
Goddamn, already had a hard life once
Am I supposed to recreate it every album for you cunts? Okay
You want to hear about my everyday
I wake up, I wake my son up, then I feed him
And lead him into his car seat
Drive up the street down to Target
Don't do hard drugs or beat my wife
But the paparazzi still wanna start shit
I don't answer their questions, I leave 'em in the dark, bitch
Then I walk through the automatic doors
A couple fans spot me but, shit, I ain't on tour
I ain't trying to ignore her
But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as fuck
And I need some new drawers
Then I spot some more fans, stan hella hardcore (Can I have a picture?)
Asking for a pic and I say sure
Scratch my dick and shake his hand
Shaking uncontrollably, he tells me I'm the man
Now I'm headed to aisle three for some Bounty paper towels
I also grab some wet wipes to clean the shit from my bowels
A really hot girl walks by with a fat ass
But I'm just wondering if Hefty really holds the most trash
Forgot my card at home, thank God I brought some cash
Then I grab some Preparation H for the critics up my ass
Head to aisle five for some Sgt. Smash cereal
Is this want you wanted, everyday life material?
I'm not a kid anymore and be sure shit's boring
Made it out the basement, now my bank account soaring
Most exciting part of my life is probably touring
Don't get me wrong, I love fans in every single city
But hotels suck and the internet is shitty
I mean, why rap about everyday shit
When I could murder punch lines and sound dope like this?
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
Hello, no one is available to take your call
Please leave a message after the tone
Bro, call me back
We couldn't get the fuckin' Super- sample cleared again, so fuckin' annoying, bro
But honestly, I just say that we chop up the Toro y Moi joint
That we were gonna put on Ultra 85
And just like flip, fuckin' freak the shit outta that joint
I think it could be crazy
Call me back, I'ma chop it up on the MPC
Here I go
โฑ๏ธ Synced Lyrics
[00:02.29] Yeah, yeah
[00:07.48] Hahaha
[00:10.03] Ayy
[00:10.96] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[00:12.60] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[00:15.97] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[00:17.78] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[00:20.91] On the 101, my wife text me
[00:22.97] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[00:25.80] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[00:28.05] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[00:31.24] I'm a dad, this my life
[00:32.65] This the type of shit I write
[00:33.77] I was hungry in the basement, now that boy, he full of life
[00:36.57] Smoking dope, high as a kite
[00:37.64] Only when that babysitter at the crib, though
[00:40.27] Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in her rib though, ayy, yeah
[00:42.47] (Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in her rib though, yeah)
[00:47.08] 'Cause back in my day it was food stamps
[00:49.83] And I love my wife like I am Chance
[00:52.03] I bet you'd rap about the shit me and him rap about
[00:54.48] If you had ever made it out, but you ain't never had the chance
[00:57.26] Uh, uh, circumstance
[00:58.42] Uh, uh, way of life
[00:59.67] Uh, uh, my decisions
[01:00.92] Uh, uh, made 'em right
[01:02.96] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[01:04.60] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[01:07.98] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[01:09.63] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[01:12.86] On the 101, my wife text me
[01:14.97] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[01:18.01] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[01:20.09] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it (Ayy, ayy)
[01:22.43] I've upgraded while they waited, will they love it, will they hate it?
[01:25.02] Who gives a fuck though?
[01:26.57] Rappers praying they next, this shit is cutthroat
[01:28.92] I'm livin' on another planet
[01:30.23] My manic depression make me constantly wanna panic
[01:32.84] I'm stressing on stage, pretendin' everybody undressing
[01:35.33] I think I'll never learn my lesson, but fuck it all, it doesn't matter
[01:37.79] Ayo, I'm on a lyrical, poetic rhetoric
[01:39.59] Lyrical miracle, satirical shit
[01:41.49] If you don't like my conscious rap, you won't like my material shit
[01:44.36] Love him or hate him, everybody know Logic can spit
[01:46.96] Used to be up to date on that rap political shit
[01:49.33] But nowadays I'm up to my elbows
[01:50.84] And every single inch of my body in my baby's shit
[01:53.64] I could tell you more about diapers than modern rappers in cyphers
[01:56.62] I used to be about the B-Rabbits and Mekhi Phifers
[01:59.17] Hit the stage, grip the mic and murder you like a pro-lifer
[02:01.58] But I'm done now, I got a son now
[02:03.30] Fuck the rap game, I'm done now
[02:05.14] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[02:06.90] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[02:10.27] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[02:11.76] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[02:15.07] On the 101, my wife text me
[02:17.07] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[02:20.23] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[02:22.10] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[02:25.53] They say that that boy done changed
[02:27.61] He don't rap about his everyday life, he ain't the same
[02:30.02] Goddamn, already had a hard life once
[02:32.53] Am I supposed to recreate it every album for you cunts? Okay
[02:35.84] You want to hear about my everyday
[02:37.54] I wake up, I wake my son up, then I feed him
[02:39.71] And lead him into his car seat
[02:41.47] Drive up the street down to Target
[02:43.18] Don't do hard drugs or beat my wife
[02:45.06] But the paparazzi still wanna start shit
[02:47.59] I don't answer their questions, I leave 'em in the dark, bitch
[02:50.37] Then I walk through the automatic doors
[02:52.35] A couple fans spot me but, shit, I ain't on tour
[02:54.88] I ain't trying to ignore her
[02:56.14] But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as fuck
[02:58.72] And I need some new drawers
[02:59.92] Then I spot some more fans, stan hella hardcore (Can I have a picture?)
[03:02.98] Asking for a pic and I say sure
[03:04.87] Scratch my dick and shake his hand
[03:06.74] Shaking uncontrollably, he tells me I'm the man
[03:09.06] Now I'm headed to aisle three for some Bounty paper towels
[03:11.75] I also grab some wet wipes to clean the shit from my bowels
[03:14.74] A really hot girl walks by with a fat ass
[03:17.00] But I'm just wondering if Hefty really holds the most trash
[03:19.76] Forgot my card at home, thank God I brought some cash
[03:22.11] Then I grab some Preparation H for the critics up my ass
[03:25.07] Head to aisle five for some Sgt. Smash cereal
[03:27.43] Is this want you wanted, everyday life material?
[03:29.98] I'm not a kid anymore and be sure shit's boring
[03:32.61] Made it out the basement, now my bank account soaring
[03:35.14] Most exciting part of my life is probably touring
[03:37.72] Don't get me wrong, I love fans in every single city
[03:40.31] But hotels suck and the internet is shitty
[03:42.76] I mean, why rap about everyday shit
[03:45.26] When I could murder punch lines and sound dope like this?
[03:48.85] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[03:50.41] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[03:54.07] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[03:55.72] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[03:58.89] On the 101, my wife text me
[04:00.93] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[04:04.12] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[04:06.17] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[04:28.69] Hello, no one is available to take your call
[04:31.30] Please leave a message after the tone
[04:36.41] Bro, call me back
[04:37.52] We couldn't get the fuckin' Super- sample cleared again, so fuckin' annoying, bro
[04:42.82] But honestly, I just say that we chop up the Toro y Moi joint
[04:47.30] That we were gonna put on Ultra 85
[04:48.89] And just like flip, fuckin' freak the shit outta that joint
[04:51.36] I think it could be crazy
[04:52.36] Call me back, I'ma chop it up on the MPC
[04:54.34] Here I go
[04:54.81]
[00:07.48] Hahaha
[00:10.03] Ayy
[00:10.96] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[00:12.60] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[00:15.97] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[00:17.78] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[00:20.91] On the 101, my wife text me
[00:22.97] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[00:25.80] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[00:28.05] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[00:31.24] I'm a dad, this my life
[00:32.65] This the type of shit I write
[00:33.77] I was hungry in the basement, now that boy, he full of life
[00:36.57] Smoking dope, high as a kite
[00:37.64] Only when that babysitter at the crib, though
[00:40.27] Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in her rib though, ayy, yeah
[00:42.47] (Take my shorty to Nobu and dig up in her rib though, yeah)
[00:47.08] 'Cause back in my day it was food stamps
[00:49.83] And I love my wife like I am Chance
[00:52.03] I bet you'd rap about the shit me and him rap about
[00:54.48] If you had ever made it out, but you ain't never had the chance
[00:57.26] Uh, uh, circumstance
[00:58.42] Uh, uh, way of life
[00:59.67] Uh, uh, my decisions
[01:00.92] Uh, uh, made 'em right
[01:02.96] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[01:04.60] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[01:07.98] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[01:09.63] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[01:12.86] On the 101, my wife text me
[01:14.97] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[01:18.01] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[01:20.09] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it (Ayy, ayy)
[01:22.43] I've upgraded while they waited, will they love it, will they hate it?
[01:25.02] Who gives a fuck though?
[01:26.57] Rappers praying they next, this shit is cutthroat
[01:28.92] I'm livin' on another planet
[01:30.23] My manic depression make me constantly wanna panic
[01:32.84] I'm stressing on stage, pretendin' everybody undressing
[01:35.33] I think I'll never learn my lesson, but fuck it all, it doesn't matter
[01:37.79] Ayo, I'm on a lyrical, poetic rhetoric
[01:39.59] Lyrical miracle, satirical shit
[01:41.49] If you don't like my conscious rap, you won't like my material shit
[01:44.36] Love him or hate him, everybody know Logic can spit
[01:46.96] Used to be up to date on that rap political shit
[01:49.33] But nowadays I'm up to my elbows
[01:50.84] And every single inch of my body in my baby's shit
[01:53.64] I could tell you more about diapers than modern rappers in cyphers
[01:56.62] I used to be about the B-Rabbits and Mekhi Phifers
[01:59.17] Hit the stage, grip the mic and murder you like a pro-lifer
[02:01.58] But I'm done now, I got a son now
[02:03.30] Fuck the rap game, I'm done now
[02:05.14] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[02:06.90] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[02:10.27] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[02:11.76] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[02:15.07] On the 101, my wife text me
[02:17.07] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[02:20.23] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[02:22.10] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[02:25.53] They say that that boy done changed
[02:27.61] He don't rap about his everyday life, he ain't the same
[02:30.02] Goddamn, already had a hard life once
[02:32.53] Am I supposed to recreate it every album for you cunts? Okay
[02:35.84] You want to hear about my everyday
[02:37.54] I wake up, I wake my son up, then I feed him
[02:39.71] And lead him into his car seat
[02:41.47] Drive up the street down to Target
[02:43.18] Don't do hard drugs or beat my wife
[02:45.06] But the paparazzi still wanna start shit
[02:47.59] I don't answer their questions, I leave 'em in the dark, bitch
[02:50.37] Then I walk through the automatic doors
[02:52.35] A couple fans spot me but, shit, I ain't on tour
[02:54.88] I ain't trying to ignore her
[02:56.14] But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as fuck
[02:58.72] And I need some new drawers
[02:59.92] Then I spot some more fans, stan hella hardcore (Can I have a picture?)
[03:02.98] Asking for a pic and I say sure
[03:04.87] Scratch my dick and shake his hand
[03:06.74] Shaking uncontrollably, he tells me I'm the man
[03:09.06] Now I'm headed to aisle three for some Bounty paper towels
[03:11.75] I also grab some wet wipes to clean the shit from my bowels
[03:14.74] A really hot girl walks by with a fat ass
[03:17.00] But I'm just wondering if Hefty really holds the most trash
[03:19.76] Forgot my card at home, thank God I brought some cash
[03:22.11] Then I grab some Preparation H for the critics up my ass
[03:25.07] Head to aisle five for some Sgt. Smash cereal
[03:27.43] Is this want you wanted, everyday life material?
[03:29.98] I'm not a kid anymore and be sure shit's boring
[03:32.61] Made it out the basement, now my bank account soaring
[03:35.14] Most exciting part of my life is probably touring
[03:37.72] Don't get me wrong, I love fans in every single city
[03:40.31] But hotels suck and the internet is shitty
[03:42.76] I mean, why rap about everyday shit
[03:45.26] When I could murder punch lines and sound dope like this?
[03:48.85] Chillin' with the homies at the crib
[03:50.41] Bumpin' Pac Div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it
[03:54.07] Hit the studio with No I.D.
[03:55.72] Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
[03:58.89] On the 101, my wife text me
[04:00.93] Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed your son," girl, don't trip about it
[04:04.12] Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
[04:06.17] Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
[04:28.69] Hello, no one is available to take your call
[04:31.30] Please leave a message after the tone
[04:36.41] Bro, call me back
[04:37.52] We couldn't get the fuckin' Super- sample cleared again, so fuckin' annoying, bro
[04:42.82] But honestly, I just say that we chop up the Toro y Moi joint
[04:47.30] That we were gonna put on Ultra 85
[04:48.89] And just like flip, fuckin' freak the shit outta that joint
[04:51.36] I think it could be crazy
[04:52.36] Call me back, I'ma chop it up on the MPC
[04:54.34] Here I go
[04:54.81]