What You Think, What I Know - Louis Logic

You think I don’t when I do

Tell a wino on the street he can’t get open like Lou

I drink a six pack an hour, piss back and shower

And get magic powers to whip ass on cowards

Bitch, that’s just how it’s gonna have to be

This isn’t a choice, so why you askin' me

Submit to the voice, it’s hypnotic

The listener’s choice is Logic

Mischievous boy, wonder who destroys a mash pit

Obnoxious, toxic, sinister prophet

Slick enough to con a television minister’s profit

From his pocket and shoplift your chick while you watch it

And dig up in her crotch quick as if I’m a locksmith

I’m a pop hit in a pub for miserable drunks

Sippin' a mug of suds till I trip on the rug

And when the bouncer tells me that I’m kicked from the club

I piss on his Lugz, now that’s what I consider a buzz

You think I can’t when I can

Get my hands on a pen and write another anthem again

You think I don’t when I do

Tell I wino on the street he can’t get open like Lou

You think I won’t when I will

Tell a ho I might feel that I’m known for my skill

You think I’m not what I am

The type of guy who might say hi with a swat from my hand

I got on the stand in the courtroom, hammered before noon

And told 'em to drop the case cause I’m plannin' a tour soon

With more tunes than your local Meineke

And I’ll stick you into your tomb if you want privacy

Ain’t nobody live as me not when it comes to Logic Diploma

Assed like he’s hot in the summer

I curse better than sailors or rednecks in a trailer

And if I lose I’ll probably become the best of the failures

The tale is told over ages, how we go from stages surrounded

By hoes in cages, light shows with lasers and explosive vapors

And disappeared for years like a cloaked escapist

Run home and tape it on your local station

Don’t be patient, tell your mom, «Bitch, I won’t be waitin'»

Hoes can hate this like an approachin' rapist

But they don’t, they just tell me that I’m dope and tasteless

How 'bout an overnight thrill in the sack, drillin' your cat

I’ll use my tackle like spackle and fill in your crack

It’s hip hop’s most villainous act, so filthy in fact

My track’s like a sewer spill on the wax

So any militant task force willin' to ask for it

Better chill if you have thoughts like killin' the rap lord

And boozin, he drinks like he’s more than human

And thinks even quicker, but that’s more confusin'

Shoot 'em, stab 'em, run up and jab 'em

In the abdomen, nobody can stop a Madvillain

Police are after 'em tryin' to cuff 'em

But they’re just a bunch of fags to 'em, tryin' to fuck 'em

And just when you think the kid’s style’s disgustin'

I rush in to start another vile production

Beer funnel and vodka like I was Russian

Now my hangovers come with a mild concussion

Alright, alright, OK

Million dollar question of the week

What’s the difference between

What you think and what I know?

I’m right, motherfucker

This has been a special presentation

Brought to you by Louis Logic and J.J.

Brown

[Lord Finesse: I know and they know that they can’t do me nothin'

You wanna riff, I’ll be quick to stomp that ass

Bring a whole task force, I’ll rhyme my fuckin' ass off

God damn, who gives a fuck, I’m 'bout twenty steps ahead of 'em]