The Results Are In
(专辑: BetterOffDEAD - 2013)
[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 class? 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 niggas cutthroat Beast coast nigga, yeah we've been on Trippy motherfucker 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 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 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
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 [?] Zombie niggas 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 niggas 'til I'm back on the
tabloids Everything I
knew about 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 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
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 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 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 going to 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 [?] No sleep til Brooklyn So I
still open my eyelids Hah, did I
mention psilocybin my stylist The
wildest Brooklyn niggas is 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!)