What
We gon' make it, knock on wood
We gon' make it, knock on wood
Used to wish that I could ball, yeah, I used to wish I could
Fifty thousand on my wrist, Red Octobers on my feet
Yeah, I'm only 29, but I still ain't hit my peak
'Cause I (What), uh, I'm out of sight
Quarter million for a '67, yeah, I think I might, uh (What)
I think I did, God damn, think I did
Smoke a blunt with my shorty at the crib
Then I dig up in the rib (What)
We gon' make it, knock on wood
We gon' make it, knock on wood (What)
Used to wish that I could ball
Yeah, I used to wish I could
Now with millions in the bank
My only question is I should (What)
Scared money don't make none, yeah, I"m good
Fifty fifty on my wrist, Red Octobers on my feet
Yeah, I'm only 29, but I still ain't hit my peak
Put a bullet through your sheet, put your body in the earth
Like a cleat, like a (What, what), like a cleat
Bobby gon' body the beat, then you know he gon' repeat
'Cause I'm what? Out of sight
'Cause I'm (What), I'm out of sight
Quarter million for a '67, yeah, I think I might, uh
I think I did, hold up now, I think I did
Smoke a blunt with my shorty at the crib
Then I dig up in the rib
Fifty million in the bank, hundred million on my mind
If I die tomorrow, at least I done had one hell of a time
Switch the flow up when I rhyme
Switch the flow up when I rhyme
People throwin' shade 'cause I shine
Fifty thousand in the pot, I just threw in twenty blind
Shooting craps in the alley, I bet all the food stamps
Now my house in the valley make me wanna do the dance, like
We gon' make it, knock on wood
We gon' make it, knock on wood
Used to wish that I could ball, yeah, I used to wish I could
Fifty thousand on my wrist, Red Octobers on my feet
Yeah, I'm only 29, but I still ain't hit my peak
'Cause I (What), uh, I'm out of sight
Quarter million for a '67, yeah, I think I might, uh (What)
I think I did, God damn, I think I did
Smoke a blunt with my shorty at the crib
Then I dig up in the rib (What)
We gon' make it, knock on wood
We gon' make it, knock on wood (What)
People always told me I would never make it out my hood
Yeah, I made it, knock on wood
Now I made it, knock on wood
All the money we makin' keep circulatin' like it should
What, what
What, what
Logic is an American rapper born in 1990 in Maryland. Active since 2009, he gained fame with mixtapes like *Young Sinatra* and *Under Pressure*, preceding his debut album *Welcome to Forever*. Throughout his career, Logic has explored various musical genres, moving from classic rap to pop and alternative hip-hop. He is known for his intricate rhymes, introspective lyrics, and ability to tell personal stories through music. Some of his most representative tracks include *1-800-273-8255*, *Everyday* and *Homicide*. In 2020, he announced his retirement from the music scene to focus on family and new projects.
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