Flatbush Zombies - The Results Are In Lyrics
[Sample][Intro: Maury]Look at this mouth, look at these eyesLook at these ears, look at this hairline!But, why don't you think you're the father?Because, it's been a time where I've went over to [Sheela's] houseAnd it's been 12 guys in there!And there's a bottle of gin, and there's things being rolled upWe all know what I'm talking aboutYou, first of all, are a liarYou're as dumb as a box of rocksNumber 4 in your class? I don't think soI have the highschool transcript to prove it!OK, well show me! I'm not trying to hear none of thatThat's not putting food on Keyshawn's tableOr clothes on her backMaury, Maury, Maury I'd just like to say-[Verse [1](undefined): Juice]Metaphysics, religious scriptureRead the pictureParticipating, hate the negative, we'll get yaLook inside your soul, meet your makerI suppose, in Jamaica blowing O'sCali niggas cutthroatBeast coast nigga, yeah we've been onTrippy mother*****er up-and-down ping-pongBullet-proof from the roof, third eye strongKing of my own, that throne'll leave you thorny crownedCrucify, getting shitted by your ownThe universe everywhere I roam is my homeTo some I suppose, uranium explodeLeaving kids disfigured they meant to just a figmentI ain't acid rap, but I rap on acidDo it for the culture, that pop shit overIf it wasn't for A$AP, the radio would make me throw upHere's the reality, I plead my [insanity](undefined)I don't give a ***** if you rap niggas don't like meSame old nigga, rubber bands and a white teeNo chain on, [gold](undefined) teeth blowing Yoshi (Yoshi!)Issa, AK do it for the whole teamZombie niggas reign supreme[?]Last week overseas, steady getting loveSigning out, Juice man, peace ganja blood[Verse 2: Erick Arc Elliot]Got a [job](undefined), got to robBlack mask, black noiseBlack ball, black hoodie back on my back, boyMy axe raw, never pack gats, I pack poiseI back smack niggas 'til I'm back on the tabloidsEverything I knew about jealousy and wicked niggasWe don't need no shootoutsPart of me, I'm part of povertyThe streets father me loveHesitate to tell the truthBecause only part of me wasConfident when the [skoma lit?]My crew move anonymous over unitsAssemble platoons to form a conglomerateBlood-rushing concussions ain't nothingYou don't have to be a nigga to consume a substanceBut pour us a bottleFormula is to follow, trippy chick"Love Lucy" like Ricky RicardoCapable of crashing internet without the intellectTell him "***** you" to his face in case it's never indirectSee my mother struggled so I never loved another like herDespite the human cycleEntise a rap revivalI've been here, my marketing plans are well offMy haters on the dick, advise for you to get offPapa was a Rolling Stone waiting for that mobile [phone](undefined)And my homies know, call my bluffWho will hold the throne? Probably meThe prophecy is as I see, it's not a dreamOn the MPC, it's sending you shots to your self-esteem[Verse 3: Meechy Darko]When you got that juiceYou got to move like the bishops doEven if that means killing every nigga in your crewI'm the type to screw over anyone to make a movePaper I pursueLooking for a big head, brunette, betty boopShe can be black-and-whiteJust like the cartoonI ain't pickyNo invite to the VMAsCause they knew I was going to shoot this shit upLike sticky fingers on the triggerAnd it's getting itchyI like my sex hot, sticky, sweat drippingKinky, finger-licking *****es ***** with meYet they honor me ‘cause of my honestyCause honestly, I ain't shitI'm just being honest, BAll red suit[?]No sleep til BrooklynSo I still open my eyelidsHah, did I mention psilocybin my stylistThe wildestBrooklyn niggas is Christopher Wallace "Gimme the loot, gimme the loot!"I need your purse and walletsI'm smoking cookies, niggaScout's honorMr. Darko(You are not the father!)
