Ramson Badbonez - February - Whateva da Weatha [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Ramson Badbonez]
I've got my wintercoat, bloody hat and gloves on
Waiting at the bus stop, thinking it's not late [?]
[?], crouching on the staircase
Strutting, rubbing bare face
[?] nobody comes today, ay
Present day, February [?] here
[?]
Hide away that secret stash and keep clear
We fear nothing, not a damn thing
Pulling out like ham strings
Makes you wanna flip out, click clack
Bang bang, pressure got my blood pumping
[?] running on drug, juggeling some currently gun smuggeling
[?]
Pretty cause and cashbacks, [?]
Hard food, keeping from a tool
Block freezing [?]
[?]
Weed case, put it on the big scale
Back you out and make sales
Get back on your hustle, drizzle, whatever
Troublemaking younger lads, guns in them plastic bags
And backpacks for fun, cutting slacks
Don't flash, currency or coke wraps
You might get your fro slaps
Watch your back, the feds have got your phone tapped
Reckless, I [?] if teenagers under police surveillance
We don't give a fuck, we're [?] the pavement
Think fast, I was rarely in class
Can't you see that shit's hard?
So I'm on my hustle, drizzle, whatever

[Hook: Gadget]
We're born in the b's so I'm never gonna stop
The euros, dollars, p's, I'm gonna get a lot
From sunup to sundown [?] whenever
No resting whatever the weather
We're born in the b's so I'm never gonna stop
The euros, dollars, p's, I'm gonna get a lot
From sunup to sundown [?] whenever
No resting whatever the weather, yeah

[Verse 2: Mystro]
Indies on friendly streets, munching on some jelly beans
Hungry as a [?], he's looking for that
[?]
[?]
Grab that, that [?] thing he had stashed
He left that in his backpack and kept it in his nan's flat
[?]
He worked like a lab rat, the first sign of that cat
He swears he's gonna flip out, click clack
Bang bang, [?] juggeled in drugs smuggeling
But someone done him in
Now he's stuck in the slums, suffering
Without rule, the scoundrel, who used to have a house full
But now [?] reduced to lack your mouthfuls, he's doubtfull
He's [?] back to where his two-faced brethren's at
Spending [?] forgetting that he soon may regret the flash
He didn't run, that pistol on the victim's gonna sing a song
But 'til it's on he'll get back on his hustle, drizzle, whatever

[Hook: Gadget x2]

[Outro: Ramson Badbonez]
Racist feds, fucked out kids
[?] out chicks stunk like shit
[?]