Flatbush ZOMBiES – The Results Are In lyrics

[Intro: Sample]
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 twelve 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 dumb as a box of rocks
Number four in your class? I don't think so
I have the high school transcript to prove it
Okay, 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 Os, Cali niggas cutthroat
Beast Coast nigga, yeah, we've been on
Trippy motherfucker, up and down, ping-pong
Bulletproof from the roof, third eye strong
King of my own, that throne'll leave you thorny crowned
Crucify, getting shitted 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 shit over
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 fuck if you rap niggas don't like me
Same old nigga, rubber bands and a white tee
No chain on, gold teeth, blowing Yoshi (Yoshi!)
Issa, AK, do it for the whole team
YFG, zombie niggas reign supreme
Prince my little yout, growin faster than my buzz
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 niggas 'til I'm back on the tabloids
Everything I knew 'bout jealousy and wicked niggas
We don't need no shootouts
Part of me, I'm part of poverty, the streets father me love
Hesitate to tell the truth cause 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 nigga 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 fuck 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 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 the juice, you got to move like the bishops do
Even if that means killing every nigga 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 gonna shoot this shit up
Like sticky fingers on the trigger and it's getting itchy
I like my sex hot, sticky, sweat dripping
Kinky, finger-licking bitches fuck with me
Yet they honor me cause of my honesty
Cause honestly, I ain't shit, I'm just being honest, B
All-red suit on Suge Knights, I'm Nino Browning
Am I my brother's keeper? No, nigga, I’m only childing
No sleep 'til Brooklyn, so I sew open my eyelids
Ha, did I mention psilocybin my stylist
The wildest Brooklyn nigga since Christopher Wallace
(Gimme the loot, gimme the loot) I need your purse and wallets
I'm smoking cookies, nigga, scout's honor
Mr. Darko
("You are not the father")
 
[Produced by Erick Arc Elliott]