5 Left In The Clip - The Weathermen

Copywrite the white James Brown, write flames down

High rate on these light weight clowns with light weight sounds

You lie face down while I take crowns and violate towns

And fuck who opened up, it’s my place now

But you barking loudly

For a mutt that’s part Chihuahua

Still shine when I’m high, partly sunny, partly cloudy

You talking mouthy?

And I’mma duct tape you fuck faces

Ain’t no way to straighten how you bit, fuck braces

Gauges end up blazing out you cliques, duck quickly

I’m like a broken condom, none of y’all can fuck with me

I hope you cope with that revolving gat aimed at your frame and the palms will

clap

The High Exaulted’s back

Fresh off tour

Yeah, left a mess on whores

Promoters that owe us dough sweat bullets through Teflon pours

And I match 'em two for every one they sweat out

Spread the led out with highbeams

I’m like Visine I get the red out

We at the club and I’m out of my forehead

Eyes so bloodshed, everything’s painted all red

And we all wet, shit my crew all bent

Enough to send shots straight through the doors of a Benz limo

So obliterated, they ID 'em by the passenger’s dental

Pissy drunk and I’m tippin' like domino’s

We live it up plush plus we get high and I love it when I’m in the cut

Sipping my cup in fly denim

Haters know we got fly with 'em, bitches wanna rock with 'em

After the bar, leaving with so-called rap stars

Smoking too many blunts, they making me laugh hard

We rap gods, Weathermen

It’s time to blast off

Tame been All City since Tootie had small titties

Come to the mall’s with me

I be spending all fifty’s

High again

With enough smoke to choke a fireman

Last seen with 76 phillies like Iverson

High and bent in my environment

Where I invent lyrical violence

That’ll separate the mice from the men

I Timberland swamp stomp competition that’s listening

Twice as interesting cause I’m different

The difference in being the champ or going the distance

Tame One, the Cheech wizard

Tragic magic, mental dyslexic, be rapping backwards when I practice

Mentally hit, bent, like I’m taking a shit

Drink a whole Hennessy fifth and won’t trip

See me in the corner rolling chocolate chips in little Bricks

That’s the Izabella, twenty twen' twen' twen', like Chris Tucker

This mahfucker

Tame is that nigga

You chilling at a killer’s dinner party

Evening will pull us, put a blade in you it’s just retrieving the bullets

Death’s still touring, stars thinking of warring

You’re weaker each release like Lucas wrote they shit for 'em

I’m just trying to get my money to build

But I can’t feel with my hands so Cage is coming to kill

And fix these numbers

And spend some of this HBO check on embalming like Six Feet Under

Left side of the stadium get torn the fuck down

Give these indie rap squaters more reason to suck now

Shit, piss and corruption so fuck the love

While I roll with my cult following and drain some blood

Breezily I approach, I spy on enemies

Heatedly like I’m coached by Bobby Knight, y’all Brian Denney’s

I be tight seeing these bad actors

See your ass crack, you’re drunk at some gay bar on fag daiquiris

Life’s trife, Al-Queda wide eyed

I hear «Death to the infidels»

I fear for my wife’s life

Then my thoughts switched

Had some talks with my Weathermen brethren

Now I pimped that star bitch

Perform, get your doe, you show your ass, nice good tits

Hold it down for the pound, cover heist footprints

We weather whatever men

Y’all whether or not to continue living

Given you know you never have sex… with women

The crew’s legit, could never be sloppy

I see Copy, Copy, Copy, leaving brothers on some Puba shit

Just avoid Cage

Yak, Tame, Breezly Brewin, swing harder than Sammy Sosa during 'roid rage