[1 zwrotka: Erick Arc Elliot] Woah These are the reasons This is what we've become Replacing humanity with the standards of reruns Cause seasons change I see the fame I hope you see the same Haters talking, ladies talking, cause they need your name In their 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 burns Trash turd when I blast Earth I ask God why, how could he betray me Since a younger me was always scatter brained and crazy Arrogance only adds to my power craft Times ticking, I'm steady tipping my hourglass International, my thoughts be cashmere You're fabric that doesn't flatter this year Often researched and revered It's a wonder I'm here And you're under my ears Throw me a bundle of something I could put in a ear [2 zwrotka: 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 skin, brown skin, we all the same thing Stop splitting brothers up Ya'll ain't learn from the slaves? See everybody special in their own kind of way You can't hate the player You can't play the game Dog, your bars garbage Might need a new thing Might need a new plane You rappers get mood swings Stay swinging like Peter Parker, the new Siddhartha Making profits from making prophets A major profit Prophesize, monopolize and take the office Get it? Get it how you get Live never forget it Electric Koolaid 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 wavey Bob Marley raised me Light it up and praise thee [3 zwrotka: Meechy Darko] I got to keep it cryptic Powers that be wanna censor us They trynna make some sense of us I just told 'em 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 the loud Homie I ain't toking it Butt stinky Like three days with no deodorant Just a bunch of dead homies and some trash talkers Naysayers get back Hand it and black ball it That ain't even a word But when you're this flawless You could say what you want And everybody be on it Zombies running the rotten apple Make sense don't it? Remember me? Mr. Allergic-To-Baby-Strollers Show pity? Nah, G Not in my city You'll get ran over and die quickly Black king, I should have a hundred brides with me Now that's a big prenup But F' it, we don't need one We one big family Ladies, let's all eat up