Lyrics Logic – Pardon My Ego
Text:
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
Bumpin’ NWA on the one oh one, ah
Skinny niggy-giggy gettin’ brain dead, uh
I don’t give a fuck what the lames said, uh
Old girl wanna give the boy head
How about a little bitty self-love instead?
I can’t fuck a hoe, I’d rather self-love instead
Can’t save a ho, no S on my chest or gun to my head (Ah)
Get the bread (Ah), get the bread (Ah)
Count this fuckin’ money boy, now get the bread
I ain’t just tryna get a nut off
Bobby boy be quick to leave a bad bitch cut off
Like when you in the studio and the vocal get cut o-
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
Bumpin’ NWA on the one oh one, ah (Woo)
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
Get the bread (Ah), get the bread (Ah)
Count this fuckin’ money boy, now get the bread
I’m feelin’ like Kid Cudi, a little crazy
But tell me what genius ain’t a little nutty
E’erbody be like that sometimes
You can hear it in me in some rhymes
I ain’t bi-polar, Kanye made me wish I was
‘Cause that level of genius, the meanest
Nobobdy fuckin’ around with a flow
When I spit it you know it’s the cleanest
Uh, all my haters can suck my penis
Went from five hundred a show, to sellin’ out arenas
From SOBs in NYC
To smokin’ trees at the mothafuckin’ Garden
Pardon my ego, uh maybe it’s the weed smoke
Maybe it’s the beat though
If I draw it in the sand
Better not cross the line like a free throw (Uh)
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
Bumpin’ NWA on the one oh one, ah (Woo)
400 hundred thousand for a one off
Hit the stage, I rage, and then I run off
It don’t matter where we at
It’s poppin’ like a gun off
Bumpin’ NWA on the one oh one, ah, like ah
Get the bread (Ah), get the bread (Ah)
Count this fuckin’ money boy, now get the bread