Statik Selektah and Logic - In The Pocket

Check, check, check, check
Yeah (Statik Selektah)
You can turn my mic up
Yeah, oh, you can it up some more so I can really hear it
A little more

Ayo
King of the Hill, bitch, I'm Bobby Hill
People hate but I still write all the shit I feel
Like a game of 8-ball, it's only one intention
Two-face hustlers like two countries is in contention
Off the track like three tires is suspension
For your eyes only like a pair of bifocals
But y'all don't feel me, like a quad I'm going postal
Five seconds 'til I say something antisocial
(Five, four, three, two, one)
Fuck people I hate 'em
Extroverted introverts that's paid to public speak
Minimum that's six figures, I do three speeches a week
Made seven figures in a day, that's not all
I save the eight for last, I'm in the pocket like a 9 ball
Love to rhyme for y'all
First picked up the pen when I was ten
When my stepdaddy went to the pen
First time I held first- was at eleven
Curfew was twelve
Runnin' with shorties that was thirteen
My older brother fourteen
On the corner, he servin' fiends
Fifteen bullets sprayed in a driveby
His children run wide-eyed
Some get hit and when they do they fall
My lyricism go straight to your dome like it's an 8 ball
I stay with scratch but never in a pocket
My flow is always in the pocket
Statik

Written by:
Patrick Baril, Robert Hall

Publisher:
Lyrics © Reservoir Media Management, Inc.

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