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Correct 97.92 Lyrics
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Flatbush ZOMBiES
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Correct 97.92
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(feat. Trash Talk) [Verse 1: Erick Arc Elliott] These are the reasons, this is what we've 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 burns Trash turd when I blast Earth I ask God why, how could he potray me? Since a younger me was always scatterbrained and crazy Arrogance only adds to my power craft Time's 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 [Verse 2: Zombie Juice] Five 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, y'all 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 bar's garbage, might need a new thing Might need a new plane, you rappers get mood swings Swing 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 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 got to keep it cryptic, powers that be wanna censor us They tryna 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 Bud 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 Ride with me, 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
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