| Four kings. |
| Big SLAP music (yeah, let it slap) |
| From LA to NC, around the globe |
| The Weatherman predict it, shhhh |
| Uh, rain! |
| You can act like the best, but you nowhere near it |
| You can talk a lotta shit, but we ain’t tryin to hear it, NO! |
| Ya boy Joe back on it, I’m back at it |
| The same shit that scared you, I laughed at it (eh heh eh) |
| And I’on’t need a gun to take a shot (blaow!) |
| You woulda thought I had a shank the way I go and take a stab at it |
| And I’on’t let a door open wit’out walkin thru it |
| So if it close on me, it’s while I’m walkin to it |
| So when I get there I’mma kick it off the hinge |
| Make myself at home, invite all my friends |
| Open up a brew or two, smoke some Cali green |
| On my Carolina shit, Ev' do his Cali thang (it's poppin) |
| I show him how we lean, he’ll tell me how they roll |
| We made our own path homie, you stuck on the road |
| Wit nowhere to go, and no way to move |
| And when they talk about the best, no way it’s you |
| It might be Rapper Pooh, or my man Herut |
| Ev' or Scudda, but ain’t you muh’f**ker! |
| It’s just a metaphor, your favorite rapper |
| Is a housecat, not a predator |
| I develop your appreciation for |
| «How did you deserve?» Pure to the core |
| From the sun to the seafloor, oas back to B-More |
| Big D spit C-4; might catch me wit a bitch name Janet |
| On the other side of the planet, cause that’s how I planned it |
| Outstanding, this LA bandit |
| Right-handed, and canned it, real dudes I stand with (sho') |
| Pour out a lil' OD, R.I.P |
| For you I smoke tree, the kind that’s green (yeah) |
| For you I tell the little ones about your dreams |
| For me the God architects for the seeds |
| Listen, uh, pencil me in as The Great Fat Hope |
| You heard right, my nigga I’m pure coke (uh) |
| I’ve been a fiend for this rap thing since Ra was no joke |
| On point like I shot it wit a scope (psssh!) |
| I got it and it’s dope, I gotta take this game by the throat |
| H-O-J rollin wit Ev' man, take a toke (*inhales*) |
| Chea, I’m that raw, no soap |
| Stay checkin niggas, no coat |
| Rapper gotta grind like he broke |
| Put me in the game coach, and I swear I won’t choke |
| A big game hunter, mag hemi ridin shotgun |
| Gettin blown in this California summer |
| Poobie know stunna (stunna), move like a boss |
| Whip it hard like +Ross+, throw it out to +The Runners+, I serve fam |
| Top dog from the LA fog |
| To this NC hog, everybody want a piece y’all |
| Uh, yeah, and I’m, on my hustle and flow |
| Golden child, every beat touched turns to soul |
| Every week, make a new one just to watch it go |
| Understandable smooth shit, I cop that dro (*inhales*) |
| I got that clockwork — oh! |
| (Oh) Chea! Ev’s reinvented |
| No, Ev’s said some shit, Ev never heard it befo' (uh) |
| I’m not cut from a different cloth among cut (yeah) |
| Like wit Joe, Pooh, and Big Dho (what?) |
| It’s the real truth, don’t make it strong it might kill you |
| Don’t waste thinkin what a cat will do — or won’t |
| This shit’ll take its toll |
| That’s why I f**k with key players not actors playin roles (that's real) |
| I guess that’s how the game go (yeah) |
| Oh no, still grindin it’s been seven days, same clothes (hehe!) |
| Been cookin up til it’s done and ain’t stoppin |
| Don’t get it twisted once we droppin — get it poppin! |
| That’s why it’s «The Weatherman» |
| Highly addictive, live in ya area |
| Still remain the clearest on your stereo. |
| It’s Evidence, love it or leave it |
| Joe Scudda (yeah), Rapper Pooh (yeah) |
| Defari, (yeah) |
| Ladies and gentlemen. |
| We got yours truly on the beat… |
| It’s been rainin all week. It's crazy. |
| No sign of lettin up… |
| I’m sorry if you’re in from out of town or vacation, heh! |
| ABB… |