Lyrics Service the Target - Louis Logic, Grand Agent

Service the Target

My name is Grand Agent
Check check it out
I’m down wit Jim Slade, he’s down wit Louis Logic
Jim Slade, Grand Agent, Louis Logic
Service the target
Where it hurt the most we hit the hardest
Point blank range aimin at them artist
Your game ain’t up to par
It’s time we turned lames into martyrs
I got a thing for potent words like cocaine
Inside the flow game, they don’t know how to show shame
Additional instrumentation ain’t it, sane it
Strictly words and ventilation when I paint it
Famous as Footwear gear, plane as Goodyear
Black and well-rounded, sales plaques mounted
Invite your dialouge, demigods to the dome
Leave a classic example on the porch if I ain’t home
Then BOOM, I bloom just like breasts in the pre-pubesce
Easy now, who you test?
MC who stress me, arrest me cardiac
Stat like 'where the party at, black?'
Now it’s in your back
Then insert the knife like the earth so good
Inside his wife, drink my flow, it’s a way of life
Victory, it be the standard for me
I’m on some «I'm better than the rest of y’all»
As far as Grand can see
Nuttin but smut, now you watchin me
Butt-fuck doctrines clockin me through factory systems
Did you actually listen?
Or am I gonna have to return like I ain’t burn you up sufficient
Turn me up when I be bitchin, my style is decision
Something like a violent Christian with a molavision
Turn me up when I be bitchin, my style is decision
Something like a violent Christian with a molavision
Service the target
I walk up in a strange person’s department
With the purpose of startin
A fire that burns up your carpet and murders your market
Campaign strategist like a murderous arsonist
Whose brain passages resemble insane activists
It’s gonna take alot of band-aids
And governmental mandates to save your fanbase
When Louis Logic slayed
And Grand Agent put the heat to the beat
MC’s get so weak in the knees they need to retreat
This is warfare, combat, that switches sportswear
On contact, to your ears when we on tracks
The effect to this is stronger than the head that spins
In the Exorcist, or cigarettes and gin on a pregnant chick
Somebody’s bound to die
My record company’s out to hide something about this guy
They say «Logic's such a character, he’ll probably just embarass ya»
That’s why I’ll never get the fuck wit Arista
Plus my manager thinks that I drink too much
I probably think too much, of morbid things and such
Like ringin sluts' necks, I’m a suspect to the crime scene
Retired green wit my team spillin vats of Visine
I got a dirty mouth, but I practice hygiene
What I mean by that is cats will catch a cursing-out
With the maximum curse amount in a verse allowed
I don’t worry 'bout puttin fuckin clean versions out