Ludacris Lyrics

Album: Incognegro

Catch Up Lyrics

(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.