Growing Pains II

(альбом: Young Sinatra - 2011)

I'm on the come up
Anything that y'all do I'll one-up
Y'all grind 'til like 3 in the morning; I grind 'til the sun up
Homie, that's dedication
This world is what I'm facing
I only hope in the end that they all love and embrace him

(I'm tryna right my wrongs
But it's funny them same wrongs helped me write this song, man)
Mama, I'm sorry that I left at 17
(I apologize a trillion times)

Everything ain't what it seems when you try to follow your dreams
First you saw the bigger picture, now you see behind the scenes
You thought everything was sweet, now you see that shit is mean
Got a taste now you a fiend, been into it since a teen
Yeah, he nice and all his friends say he gon' blow like Hiroshim'
Eyes on the prize like the baddest bitch you ever seen
At home late night, chilling, envisioning
Himself on the cover of Vibe magazine
But everything ain't what it seems, though it seem like he gon' blow
Will he make it? Maybe so
To be honest, I don't know
He got lyrics, he got flow
But it takes so much mo'
So much love
So much pain
With such little time to grow
Yeah, we love it when he smile
But hate it when he frown
I remember when that girl turned his world upside down
But it made his music better
Brought emotion made it clever
Now he growing everyday
But he hungry tryna eat
Brain like an EKG the way that he study the beat
Now we know that he gon' make it and he won't accept defeat
Now I ain't tryna be mean
Now I ain't tryna be mean
But everything ain't what it seem

(I'm tryna right my wrongs
But it's funny them same wrongs helped me write this song, man)
Momma, I'm sorry that I left at 17
(I apologize a trillion times)

So many times have I designed a rhyme to blow your mind
'Cause I know that I wasn't destined to live a life of crime
I remember Christmases with no presents
I used to fear my future now I dread my adolescence
Living the life of Logic
Really ain't what it's cut out to be
'Cause if I couldn't rap y'all wouldn't give a fuck about me
Hip-hop is politics
Filled with nothing but strife and stress
'Cause time is money and it's hard to invest
Step on the stage, I get the honeys so wet
Rocking thousand-dollar tuxes, sipping on nothing but Moet
Thinking I'm so set, but really I ain't done shit yet
This game is war and in my mind I'm like a Vietnam vet
Now, I'm on the come up
Anything that y'all do I'll one-up
Y'all grind 'til 3 in the morning; I grind 'til the sun up
Homie, that's dedication
This world is what I'm facing
I only hope in the end that they all love and embrace him

(I'm tryna right my wrongs
But it's funny them same wrongs helped me write this song, man)
Momma, I'm sorry that I left at 17
(I apologize a trillion times)

For the motherfuckers that hated: I made it
Slowly elevated, escalated onto another level, ha
My flow is crack, the game is Whitney, yup
Fame is Bobby on their first date: it ain't hit me yet
Now, visualizing driving down the horizon
While you despising the fact that I'm rising
So much hate within this world this shit is so traumatizing
Stepping to me and you better be alphabetically ready
Aim steady
Lyricism sharp as machete
I got it already
See I was born to sell records
Y'all destined to sell tunes
All up in your headphones
Killing booths like cellphones
(I got it)
'Cause everything ain't what is seems
It ain't just him it takes a team
At the ten headed to the zone in his mug mean
Yeah, the quarterback shines, but not without a sense of safety
So truly he is me and motherfucker you can't face me
Now I've had a lot of doubt
But I had to throw that out
'Cause I find that they listen when I rhyme not when I shout
And right now shit is rocky
With me and my girl
See music is my moon but this shorty is my world
Think about you all the time
Turn that shit into a rhyme
'Cause sometimes you can ignore me
But the beat listens just fine
Tell me do you even know
If you truly want to grow
Hate letters when I'm writing Love Jones all I know
'Cause everything ain't what it seem

(I'm tryna right my wrongs
But it's funny them same wrongs helped me write this song, man)
Momma, I'm sorry that I left at 17
(I apologize a trillion times)

Living a life you only dream about
Flow angelic but now it's time to bring the demon out
Can you feel me?
I said it's hard being a saint inside a sinner's body
You know it's hard living as Logic after living as Bobby
This is the life I depicted
As a child I picked it
Feeling conflicted
To music I am addicted
Not one of y'all can predict it
So many bars I'm feeling convicted
Now writing like a felon I'm selling homie who you telling
While y'all do everything by the book fuck that I'm rebelling
'Cause bitch I'm on another level
A level you ain't seen
A level that is truly only deemed for a king
The second you listen it's my mission to murder any rendition
Busting with precision
If you in my vision I'm never missing, ah!
Logic administer sinister verses like a minister for the listener
Can you motherfuckers feel me?