Lyrics What You Think, What I Know - Louis Logic

What You Think, What I Know

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]