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