conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Vinyl Days with the following description: “Vinyl Days” is the fourth single and title track for Logic’s seventh and final studio album under DefJam.
  The track is nearly five minutes and contains one long Logic verse with no hook — bringing listeners minutes of straight rhymes.
  Logic announced the track would be the first in a new slew of weekly single releases leading up to his album release on June 17.
  Legendary DJ, DJ Premier, gets tapped for a feature on this track, providing scratches at the end. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro]
  Ye-yeah, yeah
  Vinyl Days
  DJ Premier, that's my homie, that's my idol
  On the road to success, but y'all idle
  6ix on the beat, RattPack, motherfucker, let's go, here we go, let's get it on
  [Verse]
  All I need is one mic, one pen, one page to ignite
  Subject matter heavy, but the flow is MC Lyte
  You mad as fuck, all you see is red like a conservative
  All the critics do is talk, I'm really not concerned with it
  Hell is hot and we can make your residency permanent
  Several shots, they tyin' up your body with a tourniquet
  Let it rock, it's obvious that he don't know who turn it is
  Keep my circle tight-knit 'cause people move 
  deceitful
  Money and greed will expose you to the root of evil
  Already proved myself, not worried 'bout who's my equal
  Far from an anti-vaxxer, but I move the needle
  Shit got me wonderin' if what I do is legal
  Fuck it, I'm goin' a hundred in this Buick Regal
  Fuck it, I'm goin' a hundred playin' Beanie Sigel
  You still run that old game like a Neo Geo
  You lookin' for me? I'ma be in Rio
  Sunbathin' off the coast, sippin' pinot grigio
  Out the country so much they like, "Easy, gringo"
  Straight off the two-track, don't need a single
  Travelled abroad for my catalog
  Made all this money recording raps on my Macintosh, call it Apple sauce
  Even with the cameras off, I be spazzin', dog
  Drum machine analog, the North Face camouflage
  That lo-fi dusty, Panasonic with the trackin' off
  Marijuana smoke fill the air like L.A. traffic smog
  Come on, homie, listen to the voice of reason
  Yeah, you talk a lot of shit, but don't want the beef like a vegan
  Was passin' through like the aux channel
  And then I fell asleep on you, shit, we call you the golf channel
  I'm barbecue grillin' these rappers in Croc sandals
  Got money to cop Lambos, but I'd rather chop samples
  Many lines, many rhymes, 
  shit gutter like Pennywise
  Shoutout big brother, got many eyes
  I'm like Malcolm peekin' through the mini-blinds
  Fuckin' with Logic, that's the reason that you stop breathing
  Cardiac
   arrest caught you at your chest
  Should've wore a vest, now you all a mess
  You no kind of threat, you should've wore a dress
  Polo high-tech with the navy crest
  Cut from the cloth you couldn't thread with a needle
  Bought the shit at Fred Segal, got your bitch spread eagle
  The revolution won't be televised, they tellin' lies
  They wanna strip your soul away and lead you to a well that's dry
  That's why we in the kitchen cookin', know you smell the vibes
  It stick to your ribs, shit, no frozen fries
  Go against the gang, get pulverized
  I'm at the crib washed, watchin' Cobra Kai
  Thinkin' to myself, "God damn, how old am I?"
  Rose through depression like a rose, I was destined
  Your bro reached his goals like D. Rose with the left hand
  When life takes a toll, I suppose it's a lesson
  Question, how you 
  woke, but you slept in?
  Treadin' on your rappers like Midas for over ten years
  Without changin' tires, shit, I should probably check the mileage
  Back on my hustle, got packs in the duffle
  Push rhymes like weight, yeah, you know I'm taxin' you double
  I'm in the pocket like a running back, run it back
  I bought your new shit, hey, run me my money back
  Fly by night, this that fly like Mike
  ESPN better get those highlights right
  Perform better when the lights shine bright
  You lookin' like food and might get fried like rice
  Throw on a chef apron and I turn into Gordon Ramsay
  I seen cats sell they whole soul for a Camry
  I seen your favorite artists do the most just for Grammys
  I seen a grown man lyin' just to get the panties
  I'm cookin' like grannies, the recipe is sick and we got extras in the pantry
  I'm goin' Super Saiyan just to represent the family
  I think that's why the haters can't stand me
  I'm not the socialite type, but my vocals quite right
  I'm still spittin' raps like it's open mic night
  I'm still gettin' played from the hoes you might like
  I'm still gettin' paid off the flows you probably bite
  It's Logic [Outro]
  Yeah
  See— see— see— see— see the bigger picture, so we can profit all around
  This is for my real hip-hop fans
  I— I want that real back, back when you would feel tracks
  Yeah
  See— see— see— see— see the bigger picture, so we can profit all around
  Yeah
  This is for my real hip-hop fans
  I— I want that real back, back when you would feel tracks
  I— I— I want that— I— I want that real
  I— I want that real back, back when you would feel tracks
  I— I— I— I want that real— real— real— real— real back
  Yeah
  I— I
   want that real back, back when you would feel tracks
  This is Logic
  This is Logic
  This is Lo— Lo— Lo— Logic, Logic