Logic - DadBod (Official Music Video) Chords

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_ _ _ _ _ [B] _ _ _
[F#] _ [A] _ _ _ _ [B] I'm retiring and we're [A] moving to Montana.
_ _ [B] Ay, chillin' with the homies at the crib, I'm a clock [A] div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it.
[B] Move to studio with no ID, make a couple [A] platinum records in that bitch and then I live about it.
[B] On the run up with my wife, text me, talk about you [A] got it, get home, feed your son, girl don't trip about it.
[B] Walk up there with apple sauce and broccoli, little Bobby [A] better eat your greens, boy don't get mean, live about it.
[B] I'm a dad, this my life, this the type of shit I write.
[A] I was hungry in the basement, now that boy he full of life.
[B] Smokin' dope as a kite, only when that baby said I [A] had to crib though.
Take my shorty to Nobu and [B] dig _ up in the [A] rear though.
Cause _ [B] back in my day it was food stamps, [A] and I loved my wife like I am Chance.
I [B] bet you'd rap about the shit me and him rap about if you ain't [A] ever made it now, but you ain't never had a chance.
[B] Circumstance, way of life, [A] my decisions, made em right.
[B] Chillin' with the homies at the crib, bumper park [A] dip, this the life I live, you ain't know about it.
[B] With the studio and no ID, make a couple [A] platinum records in that bitch and then I live about it.
[B] On the run up with my wife, text me, talk about you [A] got it, get home, feed your son, girl don't trip about it.
[B] Walk up there with apple sauce and broccoli, little Bobby [A] better eat your greens, boy don't get mean, live about it.
I'm afraid and while [B] they waitin', will they love it, will they hate it, who gives a fuck [A] though?
Rappers prayin', they next, this shit is [B] cutthroat.
I'm livin' on another planet, my manic [A] depression make me constantly wanna panic.
I'm stressin' on stage, [B] pretendin' everybody undressin', I think I'll never learn [A] my lesson.
Fuck it, ayo, I'm on that lyrical, [B] poetic, rhetoric, lyrical, miracle, satirical shit.
[A] If you don't like my conscious rap, you won't like my material shit.
[B] Love em or hate em, everybody, no logic to spin.
[A] Used to be up to date on that rap political shit, [B] but nowadays I'm up to my elbows and every single inch of [A] my body and my baby's shit.
I can tell you [B] more about diapers than modern rappers and cyphers.
I used to [A] be about to be rappers, I'm a Kai Pfeiffer.
Sit the stage, [B] grip the mic, murder you like a pro-lifer.
But I'm done [A] now, I got a [D#] son now, fuck the rap game, I'm done [B] now.
Chillin' with the homies at the crib, bumpin' clock, [A] div, this the life I live, you ain't know about it.
No [B] studio and no ID, make a couple platinum [A] records and that bitch in it, I don't care about it.
[B] 101, my wife text me, talkin' bout you gotta [A] get home, feed your son, girl don't trip about it.
Walk [B] up in with applesauce and broccoli, little Bobby better [A] eat your greens, boy don't get mean, live about it.
[B] They say that that boy Dunn Chains, he don't rap about [A] his everyday life, he ain't the same.
Goddamn, [B] already had a hard life once, am I supposed to [A] recreate it every album for you cunts?
Okay, you [B] wanna hear about my everyday?
I wake up, I wake my [A] son up, then I feed him and lead him into his car seat.
[G#] Drive up the street down to Target, don't do hard [A] drugs or beat my wife, but the paparazzi still wanna [B] start shit.
I don't answer they [C#] questions, I leave [A] them in the dark, bitch, then I walk through the automatic [B] doors.
A couple fans spot me, but shit, I ain't [A] on tour, I ain't tryin' to ignore her, but I head to aisle [B] four,
cause my draw's stank as fuck and I need some new [A] drawers.
Then I spot some more fans stayin' hella [B] hardcore, ask me for a pic and I say sure.
[A] Scratch my dick and shake his hand, shakin' [B] uncontrollably, he tells me I'm the man.
Now I'm headed to [A] aisle three with some bounty paper towels, I also grab [B] some wet wipes to clean the shit from my bowels.
A really [A] hot girl walks by with a fat ass, but I'm just [B] wonderin' if hefty really holds the most trash.
Forgot my [A] card at home, thank God I brought some cash.
Then I grab some [B] preparation H's for the critics up my ass.
Head to aisle [A] five for some Sgt.
Smash cereal.
Is this what [B] you wanted, everyday life material?
I'm not a kid [A] anymore, be sure shit's boring.
Made it out [B] the basement, now my bank account's soaring.
Most exciting [A] part of my life is probably touring.
Don't get me wrong, [B] I love fans in every single city, but [A] hotels suck and the internet is shitty.
I mean, why [B] rap about everyday shit when I convert to [A] punchlines and sound dope like [Cm] this?
[B] Chillin' with the homies in the crib, bumpin' Pac Dibs, [A] this the life I live, you ain't know about it.
[B] Hit the studio with no ID, make a couple platinum [A] records, and that bitch in the night live about it.
On the [B] run up with my wife, text me, talkin' [Fm] bout you gotta [A] get home, feed your son, girl don't trip about it.
Walk up [B] in with apple sauce and broccoli, little Bobby better eat your greens, boy don't get me [Cm] live about it.
_ [B] _ _ _ [C#] _ [A] _ _ _ _ [B] _ _ _
_ [A] _ _ [Cm] _ _ [B] _ _ _
[C#] _ [A] _ _ [Cm] _ _ [B] _ _ [C#] _