Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Weather, artist - Rick Ross. Date of issue: 12.02.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Weather |
| Most the time, when it rain it start pouring' |
| But how we grind, it make the weather change for us |
| We roll through, but we never change for 'em |
| So smile for us, when you see us, drive for us |
| Nigga watch us ball |
| Stop a star, nigga not at all |
| I’m poppin' broads with Tiny Hog at the shoppin' mall |
| All money in the squad, boy I’m not involved |
| Can’t pay the cost to floss? |
| I can spot your flaws |
| SLs with the toppin' off |
| Dress well when it’s time to ball |
| Couple hundred for my boxer drawers |
| Young nigga used to shop at Ross |
| First to shoot when it’s poppin' off |
| Couple times, a nigga almost got popped by Ross |
| Crash unit, buzz cut ex-marines |
| Crenshaw, Slauson Ave 17 |
| Infant Stone, Lil' Shady, Baby Buke to fast light a demonstration |
| 85 Cutlass with the 380s |
| Summertime functions, L.A. streets' crazy |
| Shoot it out that’s what this crew about |
| Hangin' out the Cutlass window with the Rugar out |
| Prove yo’self, killers in pursuit of clout |
| It felt wrong, but who is you to doubt |
| Look, my master plan was buy a pound and then move it south |
| And hopefully one day I’ll put this music out |
| Trippin' now, seeing that it’s movin' out |
| I’m buying spots, nigga movin' out |
| My fan base, I see 'em movin' south |
| I’m overseas eating fuckin' croûte |
| Yeah… so I can tell you what this hustling 'bout |
| I couldn’t tell you what no luck about |
| I had maps on my wall, nigga |
| Dope sacks in my drawers, nigga |
| Look, a lot of stress I couldn’t rest not at all |
| Nigga risking everything trynna ball |
| Niggas get it and they fall off |
| It’s cause they all soft |
| Nigga like me started at the car wash |
| 8am to 10pm, that’s on the rainy day |
| Wise words from dope boys meant everything |
| They say it’s levels to the street life |
| Then I seen a bezel with the pink ice |
| All natural, momma tell you to be careful |
| In the trap trappin' to increase capital |
| No longer cruising with the windows down |
| Hand on the pistol anticipating the riddle sound |
| I’m Kanye when it came to 'ye |
| I’m Jay-Z when it came to keys |
| I’m Snoop when it came to weed |
| So now they wanna Biggie me |
| As the credit rolls, now the charge is federal |
| Money bags, I’m placed upon a pedestal |
| Still on the block in my Reeboks |
| You ain’t really know these was the Basquiat’s |
| You ain’t really know who really call shots |
| Worldwide mastermind, number one all charts |
| Reporting live from the land of the hopeless |
| Representing for the team that won rings with no coaches |
| We stay strapped and we cockin' so don’t approach us |
| Price Johnson with a big gold chain and Louis Loafers |
| Been hiding guns in the sofa since toy soldiers |
| Thunder-domes up in Hyde Park, didn’t nobody know us |
| We took all fades, our introduction was from the shoulders |
| We was kids, honestly we just needed someone to hold us |
| Grindin' hard on them corners with cane boulders |
| Fascinated by the green, all we wanted was Range Rovers |
| On the block politicking with brain blowers |
| Real niggas that got love in their hearts but can’t show it |
| We live and die for the fame and the lights glowing |
| Fox Hills buying Jordans, but still the pain shown' |
| When I die, put me next to the dead poets |
| Tell 'em God had a plan for me and I didn’t know it |
| Victory |