Flatbush Zombies - 97.92 | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Flatbush Zombies
• 97.92

[Verse 1, Erick Arc Elliott:]
Woah
These are the reasons
This is what we become
Replacing humanity with the standards of reruns
‘Cause seasons change
I see the fame, hope you see the same
Haters talking, ladies talking
‘Cause they need your name
In they mouth, so I’m spitting game
I can’t smoke, but I already lit the thing
The hood made me ask for it
And made me ignorant to past peers
Sure as turd when I blast herb
I asked God why, how can he betray me
Since a younger me was always scatter-brained and crazy
Arrogance only adds to my paragraph
Time’s ticking, I’m steady tipping my hourglass
International, my thoughts been cashmere
You fabric that doesn’t flatter this year
Often researched and revered, it’s a wonder I’m here
Angel under my ears
Throw me a bundle of something I can put in the ear
[Verse 2, Zombie Juice:]
5 AM, same old thing
Lay my head down, trying to make it to my dreams
Down another bottle, hands sticky from the green
Light-skinned, brown-skinned, we all the same thing
Stop splitting brothers up, y’all ain’t learned from the slaves?
See everybody special in their own kind of way
And you can’t hate the player, you can’t play the game
Dawg, your bars garbage, might need a new thing
Might need a new lane, you rappers get mood swings
Swing, swinging like Peter Parker, the new Siddhartha
Making prophets from making profits, a major profit
Prophesize, monopolize, and take the office
Get it? Get it how you get it, live never forget it
Electric Kool Aid, welcome to the new wave
More money in the bank, more money to be made
There’s rules to the game, like make your own lane
Zombie baby, I’m gnarly wavy, Bob Marley raised me
Light it up and praise thee…
[Verse 3, Meechy Darko:]
I gotta keep it cryptic, powers the be wanna censor us
They trying to make some sense of us
I just told them cut the check, go and make some cents with us
Oh you don’t see dead people? Need to get your senses up
And if that ain’t that loud, homie I ain’t toking it
Bud stinky like three days with no deodorant
Just a bunch of dead homies and some trash-talkers
Naysayers get back, handed them black, fall it
There ain’t even a word for when you’re this flawless
You can say say what you want, and everybody be on it
Zombies running the Rotten Apple, makes sense don’t it?
Remember me, Mr. allergic to baby strollers?
Show pity, nah g, not in my city
Ride with me, you’ll get ringed over and die quickly
Black king, I should have a hundred brides with me
Now that’s a big prenup, but eff it, we don’t need one
We one big family, you ladies let’s all eat up

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