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Ludacris F/ F.A.T.E., Infamous 2-0 Miscellaneous Catch Up (Chorus) All this drinking gon catch up And all this smoking gon catch up But some niggaz just really don't give a fuck But some niggaz just relly don't give a fuck And all this drinking gon catch up And all this smoking gon catch up But some bitches just really don't give a fuck But some bitches just really don't give a fuck (Ludacris) Now let me be quite Frank Cause I'm that crazy nigga Luda Always got a drink And I'm steady smoking buddah I do the Evil that'll bend you when I get you I'mma sit you down Then take it to the mental and essential and clown Every chance I get Bitch I'm hit Not by no bullet or no pellet But the smoke from the can a beer shit I might just be too high Then I put my middle finger up when I'm ridin' by And say hi to plenty liquors and I know it's a sin And if ya tell me stop drinking I'll just do it again So when I get old I'mma rock, roll, shake, and shiver With some blacked out lungs and a fucked up liver Chorus (Infamous 2-0) Ey yo I do this for bluntheads and whinos Steward Ave. Homes Niggaz from G-Ro committed to slanging blo Doublin' dough 24-7 Fuck po-po's I'm blowin' dro out the Ac Legend Runnin wit 2 strike felons And I pack 4-4's like Hank Aaron Then'll smoke a L Bust shells And dare ya to tell Walk up in the club Pretty thug Fucked up off head shots Sippin' Courvousier watchin' hoes drop it like it's hot Shaking tits and twats Placing big face 20's and cock Loading clips and glocks Knowing we got the haters hot The ballin' don't stop Just drop more G's on drink and drugs Live it up young nigga cause it's gon' catch up Chorus (F.A.T.E.) Now wit the help of Hen and Coke I grab my pen and pad and wrote Something that I knew was dope And represent for my kinfolk Pimp a hoe until she broke Wit mo lines than chopped coke Ey yo it's 2-0 I'm Eastside's King But I'm a writer with a twist of Amaretta My shit even come out better Grab a blunt put it together What a nigga really need Run up in the club and blow a motherfucker til he bleed Could it be an Icehouse put his lights out Or the club get closed out If it's hoes out I show out Call Tyheed get Dro'd out There's no doubt I love my life Love the light Love to write Love the mic So take a drag Grab a bag and match up Hennessey and bad weed Believe me it catch up Chorus (F.A.T.E.) Git it right Ludacris, F.A.T.E. Fullster, Infamous 2-0, ATL We are the dirty south's dirtiest. Disturbing the peace. (White guy) Hey bring on the bitches!! |
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