[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)