[Verse 1: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, heavy riddim, booming kick, rim shots] I step in the dance and the whole room tilts back Six foot two in my flats in a dress cut black Every man by the speaker got the very same plan Walk up with a grin and a drink in his hand Clear his throat like a preacher, say it slow, say it near Hey there, tall girl, how's the weather up here Four hundred men with the same tired line Since the seventh grade at Half Way Tree, every time They think it's original, they think they invented it Like I never heard the joke, like they the first one that meant it So I fix my earring and I look way down And I give him the forecast for his part of town [Hook: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, full-voiced toast, the riddim slamming] Ask me how's the weather up here, I tell you true Sunny with a zero percent chance of you Six foot two in my flats with my head in the light Keep your little line, 'cause I hear it every night [Verse 2: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, faster toasting, deep sub bass] Number one with the chain said, girl, you play ball I said no, do you play mini golf, 'cause you small Number two with the cologne asked if I could reach the shelf I said baby, I can reach it, and I reach it by myself Number three with the boots said, I like a girl tall Then he stood up on his toes and he leaned on the wall Number four with the jokes said, I need a ladder for a kiss I said bring a whole staircase and you still gon' miss And the girls by the bar fall out laughing at the scene 'Cause the forecast is the same for every man that I've seen Six foot two, Half Way Tree, I been tall all my life And I'm tired of the weather like a fisherman's wife [Hook: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, full-voiced toast, the riddim slamming] Ask me how's the weather up here, I tell you true Sunny with a zero percent chance of you Six foot two in my flats with my head in the light Keep your little line, 'cause I hear it every night [Bridge: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, bass doubles her toast, the sub following every word] Then a man come up to my shoulder, quiet, steady, no grin Never looked up at the ceiling, never asked where I been Only asked what tune I want, then he asked me my name Never mention I'm tall, never play the same game So I lean down to him and I say the weather's fine Grab his hand, tell the selector run it back one time [Final Hook: Sharp-tongued female dancehall deejay, full-voiced toast, everything in] Ask me how's the weather up here, I tell you true Sunny with a zero percent chance of you Six foot two in my flats with my head in the light Keep your little line, 'cause I hear it every night [End]
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