The Weathermen - 5 Left In The Clip lyrics

Copywrite the white James Brown
Write flames down
I rain on these lightweight
Clowns with lightweight sounds, you lie
Face down while I take
Crowns and violate towns
And fuck who opened up (Fuck ‘em, man)
It’s my place now (Fuck out of here)
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’ma 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’re cool resolving that
Revolving gat aimed at your frame
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 lead 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 tipping like dominoes
We live it up, plush spots
We get high in ‘em, and 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 malls with me
I be spending all fifties
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’s 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 squatters more
Reason to suck now
Shit, piss and corruption so fuck the love
While I roll with my cult
Following and drain some blood

Yo, Breezily I approach, I spy on enemies
Heatedly like I’m coach Bobby Knight
Y’all Brian Dennehy’s
I be tight seeing these bad actors
See your asscrack you’re steamed
Drunk at some gay bar off fag daiquiris
Life’s trife, Al-Qaeda’s wild ride, I hear
"Death to the infidels
" I fear for my wife’s life
Then my thoughts switched, had some talks
With my Weathermen brethren
And now I pimps that star bitch
Perform, get your doe, you
Show your ass, nice, good tit's
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