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

This that Young Sinatra shit, yeah this that Young Sinatra shit
Shut the fuck up and listen whenever Young Sinatra spit
Yeah your girl as 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
God damn, this the Young Sinatra clique, God damn
Listen, yeah, I'm visualizing the realism of life and actuality
Step to me fatality yeah this shit is my galaxy
I am who the baddest be
I'd rather be at academy
Of killers, I'm 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 local, from Noho, to Soho, getting G's like I'm Frodo, you know ho I'm
Blessed like Sunday, flyer than a runway
Little Bobby never second guess that he goin' 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
God damn 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 can murder your whole album with a 30 second snippet
Pass the Mary Jane like I'm running 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, never gonna give it up around an almanac
Yeah I'm all of that, fall back, like September again
Bashing these rappers so hard that 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 steak, I'm Mastro's
My god level lyricism surpass flows
I'm much more than fast flows
Money, talk, cash, hoes
Greatest of levels, I've passed those

Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby)
This world is my contraption (Bobby)
I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby)
Talk shit get kidnapped, son (Bobby)
I don't really know why I rap, son (ayy)
Money in the bank, yeah I got some (ayy)
Couple sports cars, yeah I bought some (ayy)
Logic never flex, Bobby get it done (ayy)
Y'all don't really know where I come from (come now)
Talking that shit, I'ma come for it (what's good)
Tell me what you really know about me right now
Anything I want I get it somehow

Fuck that trap shit, this that rap shit
Give me the hand like John the Baptist
Ready to rip it, I hope in the captives
Greatest alive like I'm Cassius
I put 'em all in they caskets
They can't seem to get past it
I'm a bastard that mastered the flow and none of y'all ready for this massacre though
Fuck with Logic, yeah that's a no
Matter of fact it's not impossible just highly improbable like
Saying the police isn't robbable
But I'm liable to walk up in a station in blue face
Like fuck the police!
Blue lives ain't a race
Fuck whoever said this rap shit was never a race
This shit a marathon
Murder you motherfuckers and carry on
Claiming that you really 'bout this shit
You got your Jim Carrey on, Liar Liar
I might crucify ya
Number one 'til I die
Will never retire
I am the Messiah
I am the God of this shit
This is how we do it
Yeah I started this shit, yes I started this shit like

Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby)
This world is my contraption (Bobby)
I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby)
Talk shit get kidnapped, son (Bobby)
I don't really know why I rap, son (ayy)
Money in the bank, yeah I got some (ayy)
Couple sports cars, yeah I bought some (ayy)
Logic never flex, Bobby get it done (ayy)
Y'all don't really know where I come from (come now)
Talking that shit, I'ma come for it (what's good)
Tell me what you really know about me right now
Anything I want I get it somehow

You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you
You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Anthony Cruz, ANTHONY S. CRUZ, Arjun Ivatury, Nasir Jones, Oliver Augusta Scott, Robert Hall, RONNIE JAMES WILSON, Ronnie Wilson, TERRY WATSON