In The Pocket

[Intro: Logic]

Check, check, check, check, yeah (Statik Selektah)

You can turn my mic up

Yeah

Oh, you can turn it up some more so I can really hear it

A little more

[Verse: Logic]

Ayo, king of the hill, bitch, I'm Bobby Hill

People hate but I still write all the shit I feel

Like a game of eight ball, it's only one intention

Two faced hustlers like two countries that's in contention

Off the track like three tires that's in suspension

For your eyes only like a pair of bifocals

But y'all don't feel me like a quad, I'm going postal

Five second 'til I say something anti-social

(Five, four, three, two, one)

Fuck people, I hate 'em

Extrovert and introvert that's paid to public speak

Minimum, that's six figures, I do three speeches a week

Made seven figures in a day, that's not all

I save the eight for last, I'm in the pocket like a nine ball

Another rhyme for y'all, first picked up the pen when I was ten

When my step-daddy went to the pen

First time I held my first (censored) was at eleven

Curfew was twelve, running with shorties that was thirteen

My older brother fourteen on the corner, he serving fiends

Fifteen bullets sprayed in the drive-by as children run wide-eyed

Some get hit and when they do they fall

My lyricism goes straight to your dome like it's an eight ball

I stay with scratch but never in the pocket

My flow is always in the pocket

Statik

[Scratches]

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten)