Flatbush Zombies - The Results Are In lyrics

[Intro: Maury] Look at this mouth, look at these eyes Look 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 house And it's been 12 guys in there! And there's a bottle of gin, and there's things being rolled up We all know what I'm talking about You, first of all, are a liar You're as dumb as a box of rocks Number 4 in your cla**? I don't think so I have the high school transcript to prove it! OK, well show me! I'm not trying to hear none of that That's not putting food on Keyshawn's table Or clothes on her back Maury, Maury, Maury I'd just like to say- [Verse 1: Juice] Metaphysics, religious scripture Read the picture Participating, hate the negative, we'll get ya Look inside your soul, meet your maker I suppose, in Jamaica blowing O's Cali n***as cutthroat Beast coast n***a, yeah we've been on Trippy motherf**er up-and-down ping-pong Bullet-proof from the roof, third eye strong King of my own, that throne'll leave you thorny crowned Crucify, getting sh**ted by your own The universe everywhere I roam is my home To some I suppose, uranium explode Leaving kids disfigured they meant to just a figment I ain't acid rap, but I rap on acid Do it for the culture, that pop sh** over If it wasn't for A$AP, the radio would make me throw up Here's the reality, I plead my insanity I don't give a f** if you rap n***as don't like me Same old n***a, rubber bands and a white tee No chain on, gold teeth blowing Yoshi (Yoshi!) Issa, AK do it for the whole team [?] Zombie n***as reign supreme [?] Last week overseas, steady getting love Signing out, Juice man, peace ganja blood [Verse 2: Erick Arc Elliot] Got a job, got to rob Black mask, black noise Black ball, black hoodie back on my back, boy My axe raw, never pack gats, I pack poise I back smack n***as 'til I'm back on the tabloids Everything I knew about jealousy and wicked n***as We don't need no shootouts Part of me, I'm part of poverty The streets father me love Hesitate to tell the truth Because only part of me was Confident when the skoma lit [?] My crew move anonymous over units Assemble platoons to form a conglomerate Blood-rushing concussions ain't nothing You don't have to be a n***a to consume a substance But pour us a bottle Formula is to follow, trippy chick "Love Lucy" like Ricky Ricardo Capable of crashing internet without the intellect Tell him "f** you" to his face in case it's never indirect See my mother struggled so I never loved another like her Despite the human cycle Entice a rap revival I've been here, my marketing plans are well off My haters on the dick, advise for you to get off Papa was a Rolling Stone waiting for that mobile phone And my homies know, call my bluff Who will hold the throne? Probably me The prophecy is as I see, it's not a dream On the MPC, it's sending you shots to your self-esteem [Verse 3: Meechy Darko] When you got that juice You got to move like the bishops do Even if that means k**ing every n***a in your crew I'm the type to screw over anyone to make a move Paper I pursue Looking for a big head, brunette, betty boop She can be black-and-white Just like the cartoon I ain't picky No invite to the VMAs Cause they knew I was going to shoot this sh** up Like sticky fingers on the trigger And it's getting itchy I like my s** hot, sticky, sweat dripping Kinky, finger-licking b**hes f** with me Yet they honor me ‘cause of my honesty Cause honestly, I ain't sh** I'm just being honest, B All red suit [?] No sleep til Brooklyn So I still open my eyelids Hah, did I mention psilocybin my stylist The wildest Brooklyn n***as is Christopher Wallace "Gimme the loot, gimme the loot!" I need your purse and wallets I'm smoking cookies, n***a Scout's honor Mr. Darko (You are not the father!)