Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Been Through The Storm, artist - Busta Rhymes. Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Been Through The Storm |
| Been through the storm, through the cold and rain |
| Everything’s still the same |
| Can’t control how I feel |
| Sometimes it’s hard to keep it real |
| You see the luxuries in life, with the fortune and fame |
| Like them Cadillacs with sunroofs mayne |
| So many ways to make a dollar |
| Huh, sometimes I think about my father |
| You see my poppa was broke, and my momma was young |
| Tryin to blend in with them city folk |
| Every day landlord knockin down my do' |
| Wonderin where my next blessing is comin from |
| My momma and poppa, moved to the U.S. as Jamaicans |
| Struggled to get visas and green cards through immigration |
| Though my pop was po', stayed away from crime and malice |
| Hard living gave him hard hands and callous |
| As a young’n, peep how much they loved each other’s space |
| His hard hands rubbin against the pretty skin of my mother’s face |
| Dig for treasure 'til his hands looked like hands of a junkie |
| So coarse, slap a mule and take the life from a donkey |
| On the other hand, mommy was the type to work two jobs |
| Never enough money, that’s why I got your whole crew robbed |
| Got older, developed ways of grippin the steel |
| Barely home for me to see her, or get a good cooked meal |
| Seek refuge in the alleged land of the free, lookin |
| Blendin in with city folk, down in Flatbush Brooklyn |
| Feel a little of my pain, follow and sing to it |
| Homey I seen it all, if you ain’t knowin I been through it |
| In other words I |
| Got a little older, late teens, me and my crew would huddle |
| On the corner late nights, plottin to escape struggle |
| Nights got cold and still would hustle in the same place |
| In front of Pancho Delis, now the freeze up on a nigga face |
| 1987 Reaganomics ever curious |
| To visit other cities, out of town kick was serious |
| Guayanese jeans bounce, put whatever slinger on |
| Whatever slinger came back, quickly brought me right along |
| Nigga ran away from home |
| Doin different wild shit, just to put a pair of Filas on, 'Didas on |
| Wreck is all for the good, gettin into shit |
| Like we innocent, actin older than we should |
| Walk around broke in the hood, watchin all the rich niggas |
| These younger thugs who try to choke and try to get niggas |
| Thinkin 'bout my mom and pop, while I’m monopolizin |
| To hell with just gettin by and economizin |
| It’s kinda hard bein humble in the belly of struggle |
| Doin things that probably get you in trouble |
| That’s why we stay up on the block, gettin money while we keepin it safe |
| In front of churchgoers keepin the faith |
| Mom and pop be worryin for they son |
| Despite they struggle and their honest livin look and see just what I become |
| A scavenger, in brute pursuit to be happy, another young’n that’s wildin |
| Across the line until somebody tryin to cap me — ohhhh shit |
| I been through the storm |
| Through the cold and rain |
| Everything’s still the same |
| Can’t control how I feel |
| Sometimes it’s hard to keep it real |
| Woooooooooooooo-whoahhhhhhhhhhhhh |
| Yeahhhhhhhhhhh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh |