Warm It Up Logic

[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