Flatbush Zombies Ft. Skepta - RedEye To Paris (Lyrics)

[Intro] Cause y’all grew up watchin’ Rambo and Commando and Cobra and Schwarzenegger, coincidently is now the governor of a state in America. So where does the social responsibility fall for Hollywood? Na’mean that’s why me I try tell us that art is a reflection of life. I wants the youth not to shoot and leave a song about it

[Verse 1: Erick Arc Elliott] How can I only handle my business from this 9-5

I smoke that dope, I call that potent, smokin’ till I’m paralyzed

High as hell I’m blinded, Zombies been auto pilot

This year my bro told me get mine

Oui oui, we in Paris

Skepta MC, architecture the textures of beats

My complexion obsessive to infections when I call to freaks

While this mind is matured I got my green from my fans

So if you smokin’ on Reggie, I smack that green from your hands

My revival, ye nah take me title cause man are stifle

No man, no war, no rifle

Me day are in the ghetto, sense it pon’ me head stone

If I was a star, word to God I’d be Fredro

It’s all fashion, I smokes good I talks lavish

Led to fame, a French name, expensive habits

Tappin’ out to chicken wings from Bob Backlund

Whole Foods, I eats good, it’s organic

[Verse 2: Zombie Juice] In Paris, got hotties, no molly just ganji

Stone like a brick, meet you in the lobby

Gettin’ dome off the rip, gold colored tints

Whip like I whip, lay my shit down ya shrimp

Technical message spray and beheaded

Get used to slayin’

They useful, they used to slaves

[?] man use their great

The proofs of mis-truth

Hidden in America’s roots

Livin’? I’m barely, just shoot

To the stars and cave in the roof

Big timer for the majors it’s proof

Skepta with the ganja, salute

Represent for my mama, stay true

Gotta get it for low and the flip too

Flatbush in the news, cops killed who?

Niggas of the blue gotta trust who

Money on my mind, what I’ve been through

All alone in the scroll with a issue

Sticking to the dry like a tissue

Sacrifice for the world, gonna miss you

One wish, few blunts and a pistol

Frank White [?] we miss you

Tip top, hip-hop rap’s official

Not hot, been told not official

Big shot, big plot my [?] Zombies blow wide, continental

[Hook: Erick Arc Elliott] (x2)

Yo shawty on my wood wood

Ay it ain’t no problem cause we smokin’ on that good good

Light one for my niggas who represent the hood hood

You know we smokin’ that fire, she light the wood

Dawg I just fuck her good

[Verse 3: Meechy Darko] Won’t be known until I’m on and niggas hand me the thrown

Physically been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own

If a nigga nice as me then he must be a clone

Yo bitch is foamin at the mouth, I had to give her a bone

Niggas should be embarrassed I caught her red eyed in Paris

Eyes red from smokin’ the hash

Ah shit that classic, I’m nasty pass me it

Bitch and I smash it, pass me a tab of some acid

Pass me the globe and I trot that bitch

Like you know what the best is

You Hardly Bent I’m Harvey Dent

Put my faith in the flip, you ain’t a pimp

Your reign ain’t shit, you put your faith in the bitch

Saint laurent crash denims, my shit came with the rips

My flow is sick, I spit more than a retard’s kiss

I’m in your bitch, I raided my hips like I’m ravishing Rick

I’m rather sick, ahh fell my vibe, catchin’ my drip

I wore a rubber that night, so that cannot be my kid

Do as I say and get out, follow my actions and live

[Verse 4: Skepta] I get love from the north and the west

Love from the south and the east

It’s a zombie attack you bitches, we don’t care about the police

I know you heard about the single, and you know about the album that I’m about to release

That’s why I’m in Paris taking pics with the girls outside on the streets

There will never be another like me, rep my gang ’til I D.I.E

And I don’t wanna get buried in a grave

Burn me and throw my ashes in the sea (amen)

Hennessey and Coke in the cup

And Pierre got me the weed and the Rizlas

I’m gonna smoke my spliff ’til it gets to the roach and it burns my fingers

Watch the rude boy spit now

Musical chairs make a man sit down

Any size, little rave or a big crowd

Somebody’s gonna die here like Chris Brown

Picture me broke in the hood on the run from the police, up to no good

Driving with no license, two packs in the passenger seat, looking like Suge

Fuck that, I’ve gotta get paid I swear, I’m tryn’a be the hustler of the year

I’ve been killing it for lots of years, put money on my head, that’s stocks and shares

I put the work in, I go too hard, business man with no business card

Take a good look right now, the last time you see a rude boy like me spitting these bars

[Hook: Erick Arc Elliot] (x2)