conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Warm It Up with the following description: On “Warm It Up,” Logic revives his Young Sinatra persona. This persona was last seen on “Ice Cold” during his feature where he rapped:
  Livin' on the need to get down but I digress
  Young Sinatra on the track
  Throw it back and nevertheless
  This song is filled with references to many of Logic’s old songs, such as “Live on the Air” and “Intro.”. Ironically, Logic has distinguished a difference between his two alter egos – Young Sinatra and Bobby Tarantino. In an interview with Hardknocktv, he says in reference to Bobby Tarantino:
  It’s not Logic. It’s not Young Sinatra. It’s Bobby Tarantino. Bobby Tarantino is the alter ego of me, and Bobby Tarantino is just the turn up, fun. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro]
  You—you, you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You, you—you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You, you—you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  Warm it up, warm it up
  Warm it up, warm it up, warm it up
  Warm it up, warm it up
  Warm it up, warm it up, warm it up
  [Verse 1: Logic as  Young Sinatra]
  It's that Young Sinatra shit, yeah, that's that Young Sinatra shit
  Shut the fuck up and listen whenever Young Sinatra spit
  Yeah, your girl fine as hell but she a Young Sinatra chick
  Hey Bobby, how can you tell? She on the Young Sinatra dick
  All these rappers wack as fuck, make the Young Sinatra sick
  RattPack be the squad, that's that Young Sinatra clique
  Goddamn, said this the Young Sinatra clique, goddamn!
  Listen, yeah—I’m visualizing the realism of life in actuality
  Step to me, fatality; yeah, this shit is my galaxy
  I am who the baddest be, I'd rather be at the academy
  Killers, I'm be glad to be me, magnify the shit like bifocal
  Motherfuckers talk on the internet, but in person they never vocal
  Come to the hood and fuck you up if you prefer to be local
  I'm loco from Noho to Soho
  Gettin' cheese like a photo, you know, ho
  I'm blessed like Sunday, flyer than a runway
  Lil' Bobby never second-guessed that he gon' make it one day
  One–way or another, my brother, word to your mother
  They should give me a badge 'cause I'm always under covers
  Goddamn! I'm a miraculous man!
  You know I get, I get it, I get it, I get it
  The Young Sinatra spit it, rewind it, and rip it
  I could murder your whole album with a 30-second snippet
  Pass the Mary Jane like I'm runnin' a train with Peter Parker
  On tour, I have more sex in the city than Sarah Jessica Parker
  The deeper and deeper I go, it get darker
  They say they want the old me, they want the Young Sinatra back
  The one that murder it, rip it up, no, never givin' up 'round the almanac
  Yeah, I'm all of that, fall back, like September again
  Bashin' these rappers so hard they won't remember again
  When it comes to hip-hop, bitch, I'm indigenous to this
  It's apparent I'm bearin' down like a parent
  When the beef is at stake, I'm Mastro's
  My god-level lyricism surpass flows, I'm much more than fast flows
  Money, talk, cash knows, greatest of levels–I've passed those [Chorus: Logic as Bobby Tarantino]
  Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby!)
  This world is my contraption (Bobby!)
  I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby!)
  Talk shit, get kidnapped, son (Bobby!)
  I don't really know why I rap, son (ay!)
  Money in the bank, yeah, I got some (ay!)
  Couple sports cars, yeah, I bought some (ay!)
  Logic never flex, Bobby get it done! (ay!)
  Yeah, y'all don't really know where I come from (come now)
  Talkin' that shit, I'ma come for 'em (what's good?)
  Tell me what you really know about me right now
  Anything I want, I get it somehow
  [Verse 2: Logic as Young Sinatra]
  Fuck that trap shit, this that rap shit
  Give me the head like John the Baptist
  Ready to rip it, I hope in the captives
  Greatest alive like I'm Cassius
  I put 'em all in they caskets, they can't seem to get past it
  I'm a bastard that mastered the flow
  And none of y'all ready for the massacre, though
  Fuck with Logic? Yeah, that's a no
  Matter of fact, it's not impossible, just highly improbable
  Like, saying the police isn't robbable
  But I'm liable to walk up in the station in blue-face
  Like, "Fuck the police!"—Blue lives ain't a race
  Fuck whoever said this rap shit was never a race
  This shit a marathon
  Murder you motherfuckers and carry on
  Claimin' that you really 'bout this shit
  You got your Jim Carrey on—
  Liar Liar; I might crucify ya
  Number one till I die, will never retire
  I am the Messiah, I am the god of this shit
  This is how we do it—yeah, I started this shit
  Yes, I started this shit like– [Chorus: Logic as Bobby Tarantino]
  Fuck that rap shit, this that trap shit (Bobby!)
  This world is my contraption (Bobby!)
  I was born and raised in the trap, son (Bobby!)
  Talk shit, get kidnapped, son (Bobby!)
  I don't really know why I rap, son (ay!)
  Money in the bank, yeah, I got some (ay!)
  Couple sports cars, yeah, I bought some (ay!)
  Logic never flex, Bobby get it done! (ay!)
  Yeah, y'all don't really know where I come from (come now)
  Talkin' that shit, I'ma come for 'em (what's good?)
  Tell me what you really know about me right now
  Anything I want, I get it somehow
  [Outro]
  You—you, you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You, you—you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You—you, you, you, you, you
  You, you—you
  You—you, you, you, you, you