Lyrics:
(gettin' fat, gettin' fat)
And lately to me that's all that matter (that's all that)
I'm not bothered by the internet chatter (naw)
I'ma make the haters
the parking lot
By a Cherokee and a green drop-top
And I don't stop, until I squirt
Jeans skirt, butt-naked it all work
You nasty boy, you nasty
You
Hey 'Pac, it's yo' boy
Hey man so far I've been listenin' to your album
And I ain't heard nothin' you could kick back and smoke a beadie to
You
hips
Shake they rumps, bass thump
Believin they could fly by the way you jump, player, uhh
Hip-Hop mayor, fat rhyme sayer
From the Boogie Down
got it
Fat boy, rich nigga, with a appetite
Count money all night under the candlelight
Spinnin' vinyl, Teddy P, or is it Lionel?
Not a model, but I
And I'ma keep pickin on your weak ass crew
You, BITCH, Bizarre you a fat stutterin fuck
You a joke, I choke whoever buttered you up
I've been ridin by your
game nigga
Hope ya bulletproof
Fat fuck lame nigga
Know who I'm talkin' to
Glad ya man did
You 'bout to get it too
Rest with your fam man
This
damn sincere
And then the years rolled by and the bedroom got cold
Oh yeah the years rolled by fat Flossie and me we got old
She went looking for
Hey 'Pac, it's yo' boy
Hey man so far I've been listenin' to your album
And I ain't heard nothin' you could kick back and smoke a beadie to
You
the Yellow Pages under smooth shit
'Cause Red ain't down for the bullshit
Niggas fucked up by letting me make an album
(How come, rude boy?)
To get
Yes, he made the album of 2012
(Just ask him
He'll tell you) But that was just the
Second biggest moment of Frank Ocean's year
Here, while wearing
boy Flemmin, yellow bone women
Got to come through real sexy, not skinny
Don't want no big fat bitch
Can't let that ho ride with me on the switch
Gotta
boy Flemmin, yellow bone women
Got to come through real sexy, not skinny
Don't want no big fat bitch
Can't let that ho ride with me on the switch
Gotta
an instrumental album of sitars, pots and pans
You've done enough talking, so I know you ain't fading Sole
Have your boy Rupert Murdock fly you out,
I'll serve you
Hey 'Pac, it's yo' boy
Hey man so far I've been listenin' to your album
And I ain't heard nothin' you could kick back and smoke a beadie to
You
(Drop the fucking album!)
(Bro, you've been talking about this album for months, when are you going to drop it?)
(Seriously, si-six, seven months
gonna snake each other
Sleep in cells and get ate by rats
Yeah I got friends that I class as brothers
I dream about sending a lambo
Big fat chain, Rolex
eating and getting fat while y'all dying of hunger
I get drunk in the winter, stay high in the summer
Watch out, my album's putting up McDonald's numbers
dislike
Just like Taike The Dyke
Don't even get me started about Devin
You wanna know who's better? 107
Friends with a fat guy like yo name is Kevin
So fat
a comeback like I'm Tony Parker
Call my assistant I need me cover
My album be fire
Ill still drop another one
You mimick my style
You got nothing on none of us
before, in my little snapshot album.
The night was dark and the hour was late,
She was kissing her boy by the garden gate,
Wouldn't she love to see page
Second album of the year, I'm on my trap shit
Make a skinny ho pay me like a fat bitch (Uh-uh)
Fly the Mulsanne like a plane, a boss behind tint
It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South shit
Straight west coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out"
a niggas trunk is a nigga named Screw
And I got that boy Kici in heah
And that boy Poyo and these hoes heah
And we comin through wit that boy Flig-ati
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