@[Diderik:33655] "Your a holiday!" Was a popular term used in the 50s/60s to compliment someone on their all around. For example, not only are they beautiful, but they are fun and kind too ... just an all around "holiday".
I think your first comment is closer to being accurate. The singer/song writers state "Millions of eyes can see, yet why am i so blind!? When the someone else is me, its unkind its unkind". I believe hes referring to the girl toying with him and using him. He wants something deeper with her, thats why he allows himself to be as a puppet (even though for her fun and games) as long as it makes her happy. But he knows deep down that she doesnt really want to be serious with him and thats what makes him.
(Funkmaster Flex)
Oh, we gotta put the fuckin' camera on that joint (Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around, see the room (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
We should literally put that shit right here and just let it spin (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Around the room, you know what I mean? (Bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherfucker Tarantino, dawn 'til dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up, my man?"
I need some raw shit and he recommended the Tascam
I'm talkin' hip-hop shit straight to tape
He did the Salad Days demos on it and it sounded great
Any real musician listenin' can relate
I feel like the RZA recording in '88
Prince Rakim, I fuckin' blow like Hiroshim'
I'm on the scene, never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit, get hit quick
Give a fuck what you talkin' 'bout, y'all can suck my dick (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla, Madlib, MadGic comin' soon, shit (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
I get the pussy wetter than a monsoon hit, y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap, I don't cap (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
I do this for the love of hip-hop, I don't rap
Open up your chest like EMS light (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Who the best? Don't give a fuck but don't test my mic
It's Logic (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
(Bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Haha, hey, yo, yo, I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Classic like turntables, beatbox and floppy diskettes
A young Tom Cruise is with me and we're risky business
I delivered more gifts to game than a thousand Christmases
Pssht, like a yellow jacket, teamed with those metal ratchets
Spin your head back like DJ Scratch about to scratch it
Smack the fader, the rappers saber swings, decapitates you
Leave your couch stained like Jheri curl activator
Soul Glo, Soul Train, voice blow like Coltrane
Boomerang back to the track, push your hair back
You need more than Rogaine, no pain, no game
Like Patti LaBelle say, but me and Logic, it's no thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days, leave your mind astray
Even with application maps, they can't find the way
Back to pure hip-hop tracks, Marley Marl, Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap, and Large B, please, ha
Oh, we gotta put the fuckin' camera on that joint (Funkmaster Flex)
Let it spin around, see the room (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
We should literally put that shit right here and just let it spin (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Around the room, you know what I mean? (Bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
But, anyways
Yo, I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk
I'm that motherfucker Tarantino, dawn 'til dusk
Hit the homie Mac Demarco, like "What up, my man?"
I need some raw shit and he recommended the Tascam
I'm talkin' hip-hop shit straight to tape
He did the Salad Days demos on it and it sounded great
Any real musician listenin' can relate
I feel like the RZA recording in '88
Prince Rakim, I fuckin' blow like Hiroshim'
I'm on the scene, never flippin' scripts like a pharmacist
I am quite the opposite, talk shit, get hit quick
Give a fuck what you talkin' 'bout, y'all can suck my dick (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
This that DOOM shit, J. Dilla, Madlib, MadGic comin' soon, shit (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
I get the pussy wetter than a monsoon hit, y'all
Ayo, ayo, y'all play games, more cap, I don't cap (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
I do this for the love of hip-hop, I don't rap
Open up your chest like EMS light (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Who the best? Don't give a fuck but don't test my mic
It's Logic (bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
(Bring the motherfuckin' ruckus)
Haha, hey, yo, yo, I rips it hardcore like porno flick bitches
Classic like turntables, beatbox and floppy diskettes
A young Tom Cruise is with me and we're risky business
I delivered more gifts to game than a thousand Christmases
Pssht, like a yellow jacket, teamed with those metal ratchets
Spin your head back like DJ Scratch about to scratch it
Smack the fader, the rappers saber swings, decapitates you
Leave your couch stained like Jheri curl activator
Soul Glo, Soul Train, voice blow like Coltrane
Boomerang back to the track, push your hair back
You need more than Rogaine, no pain, no game
Like Patti LaBelle say, but me and Logic, it's no thing
Vinyl Days, Vinyl Days, leave your mind astray
Even with application maps, they can't find the way
Back to pure hip-hop tracks, Marley Marl, Biz Markie
BDP, Eric B., Kool G Rap, and Large B, please, ha
Lyrics submitted by furyroad97
Porta one Lyrics as written by Arjun Ivatury Robert Bryson Hall Ii
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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