Warm It Up

[Intro] You—you, you You—you, you, you, you, you You, you—you You—you, you, you, you, you You—you, you, you, you, you You, you—you You—you, you, you, you, you Warm it up, warm it up Warm it up, warm it up, warm it up Warm it up, warm it up Warm it up, warm it up, warm it up [Verse 1: Logic as Young Sinatra] It's that Young Sinatra shit, yeah, that's that Young Sinatra shit Shut the fuck up and listen whenever Young Sinatra spit Yeah, your girl fine as hell but she a Young Sinatra chick Hey Bobby, how can you tell? She on the Young Sinatra dick All these rappers wack as fuck, make the Young Sinatra sick RattPack be the squad, that's that Young Sinatra clique Goddamn, said this the Young Sinatra clique, goddamn! Listen, yeah—I’m visualizing the realism of life in actuality Step to me, fatality; yeah, this shit is my galaxy I am who the baddest be, I'd rather be at the academy Killers, I'm be glad to be me, magnify the shit like bifocal Motherfuckers talk on the internet, but in person they never vocal Come to the hood and fuck you up if you prefer to be local I'm loco from Noho to Soho Gettin' cheese like a photo, you know, ho I'm blessed like Sunday, flyer than a runway Lil' Bobby never second-guessed that he gon' make it one day One–way or another, my brother, word to your mother They should give me a badge 'cause I'm always under covers Goddamn! I'm a miraculous man! You know I get, I get it, I get it, I get it The Young Sinatra spit it, rewind it, and rip it I could murder your whole album with a 30-second snippet Pass the Mary Jane like I'm runnin' a train with Peter Parker On tour, I have more sex in the city than Sarah Jessica Parker The deeper and deeper I go, it get darker They say they want the old me, they want the Young Sinatra back The one that murder it, rip it up, no, never givin' up 'round the almanac Yeah, I'm all of that, fall back, like September again Bashin' these rappers so hard they won't remember again When it comes to hip-hop, bitch, I'm indigenous to this It's apparent I'm bearin' down like a parent When the beef is at stake, I'm Mastro's My god-level lyricism surpass flows, I'm much more than fast flows Money, talk, cash knows, greatest of levels–I've passed those [Chorus: Logic as Bobby Tarantino] Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby!) This world is my contraption (Bobby!) I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby!) Talk shit, get kidnapped, son (Bobby!) I don't really know why I rap, son (ay!) Money in the bank, yeah, I got some (ay!) Couple sports cars, yeah, I bought some (ay!) Logic never flex, Bobby get it done! (ay!) Yeah, y'all don't really know where I come from (come now) Talkin' that shit, I'ma come for 'em (what's good?) Tell me what you really know about me right now Anything I want, I get it somehow [Verse 2: Logic as Young Sinatra] Fuck that trap shit, this that rap shit Give me the head like John the Baptist Ready to rip it, I hope in the captives Greatest alive like I'm Cassius I put 'em all in they caskets, they can't seem to get past it I'm a bastard that mastered the flow And none of y'all ready for the massacre, though Fuck with Logic? Yeah, that's a no Matter of fact, it's not impossible, just highly improbable Like, saying the police isn't robbable But I'm liable to walk up in the station in blue-face Like, "Fuck the police!"—Blue lives ain't a race Fuck whoever said this rap shit was never a race This shit a marathon Murder you motherfuckers and carry on Claimin' that you really 'bout this shit You got your Jim Carrey on— Liar Liar; I might crucify ya Number one till I die, will never retire I am the Messiah, I am the god of this shit This is how we do it—yeah, I started this shit Yes, I started this shit like– [Chorus: Logic as Bobby Tarantino] Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby!) This world is my contraption (Bobby!) I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby!) Talk shit, get kidnapped, son (Bobby!) I don't really know why I rap, son (ay!) Money in the bank, yeah, I got some (ay!) Couple sports cars, yeah, I bought some (ay!) Logic never flex, Bobby get it done! (ay!) Yeah, y'all don't really know where I come from (come now) Talkin' that shit, I'ma come for 'em (what's good?) Tell me what you really know about me right now Anything I want, I get it somehow [Outro] You—you, you You—you, you, you, you, you You, you—you You—you, you, you, you, you You—you, you, you, you, you You, you—you You—you, you, you, you, you