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beverly crabs - the weathermen lyrics

meanwhile, the cops continue their search for two suspects, the shooter, and the stabber, who left funseekers running for their lives

(indistinct chatter)

[verse 1: cage]

‘brick, that’s the name of my pit
call it dog sh*t records
brick records, no game of chess, y’all playin’ d*ck checkers
bottle of mo, no dough, but mo’ problems
“dangerous connection” you and a boy’s ass, no condoms
get back to research, get clapped for free merch
to cover your bodies with them fake stestasonic t*shirts
watch me f*ck this herb up from the curb up
thrеw his (?) and sick my pit on his bit kube chew that bird up
you speak rеal words, but can’t finesse this sh*t
they sent rebel ins with 9k to inspect this d*ck
open you eyes tell me what do you see?
could it be e.c.?
so you do beats for college hoops on the w.b
and you f*ckin’ with me?
i’ll have you clipped for a bag of “d” and i’m puffin’ it free
pass around your man’s powder
get your five fans louder
but your b*tch don’t say sh*t garglin’ cage’s clam chowder
in and out her with a new york frank
let’s fight grandson
your pops lotto dough got you lookin’ like ransom
you think up long
five months later got a linked up song
sound like the vocals are synched up wrong
check, never sellin’ ‘esoterrible’ for boring, gentle sh*t
tryna eat off cage like some nude oriental chick
you need a firehose to get that sh*t off the shelves
left a crumpled up rap trails lost in my twelves
wishin’ death on me soundin’ like my ex hoe
wasted verses on haters, me and copy collect those
get milk to sponsor, the “where’s he been?” tour
came to the rap mecca and had to cancel every in*store
went to fat beats, hopin’ to blast a few clips
i had to put your ass back in massachusetts
daddy poorbucks got you frontin’ with his agents
why you bringin’ up pete nice when you runnin’ with his cadence?
tryna pull my dog’s collar, my dog hollar
look at richie rich, tryna fit a pit with his dog dollar
leaders of the weathermen will clap iron
like the cobra commander bucking megatron out the black lion
[outro]:

and f*ck celph titled
he only mad cus he bites my sloppy seconds
you and your label better off gettin’ money
off that b*tch then come at me(?)
(f*ck that)
i just sh*t that out
for y’all to feed your face (say grace motherf*ckers(?))
charity is now over (f*ggot)
it’s now over
or at least the raps is (i’;ll f*ck you up when i see you)
‘haterama part 2’
see you on the street motherf*cker!

- the weathermen lyrics

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