DadBod (Explicit)

DadBod (Explicit) - Logic

Lyrics by：Sir Robert Bryson Hall II/Arjun Ivatury/Kyle Metcalfe

Composed by：Sir Robert Bryson Hall II/Arjun Ivatury/Kyle Metcalfe

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 b***h 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 s**t I write

I was hungry in the basement now that boy he full of life

Smoking d**e 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 s**t 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 b***h 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 f**k though

Rappers praying they next this s**t 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 f**k it all it doesn't matter

Ayo I'm on a lyrical poetic rhetoric

Lyrical miracle satirical s**t

If you don't like my conscious rap you won't like my material s**t

Love him or hate him everybody know Logic can spit

Used to be up to date on that rap political s**t

But nowadays I'm up to my elbows

And every single inch of my body in my baby's s**t

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

F**k 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 b***h 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

Godd**n I already had a hard life once

Am I supposed to recreate it every album for you c**ts 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 carseat

Drive up the street down to Target

Don't do hard d**gs or beat my wife

But the paparazzi still wanna start s**t

I don't answer their questions I leave 'em in the dark b***h

Then I walk through the automatic doors

A couple fans spot me but s**t I ain't on tour

I ain't trying to ignore her

But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as f**k

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 d**k 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 s**t from my bowels

A really hot girl walks by with a fat a*s

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 a*s

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 s**t'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 s**tty

I mean why rap about everyday s**t

When I could murder punch lines and sound d**e 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 b***h 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 f**kin' Super **** sample cleared again so f**kin' 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 f**kin' freak the s**t outta that joint

I think it could be crazy

Call me back I'ma chop it up on the MPC

Here I go