The Results Are In

[Produced by Erick Arc Elliott] [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 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 Press 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