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    Ludacris
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    Fatty Girl

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    Song Info

    Fatty Girl
    Released


      About "Fatty Girl"

      Lyrics for Ludacris - "Fatty Girl"

      Na, na, na
      Gonna have a good time
      Na, na, na
      Gonna have a good time
      Hey, hey, hey
      F is for all the
      Fatties wearin' my shit
      (Do you want me to?)
      Uh, yeah, what?
      (Uh, Trackmasters
      FB, Entertainment)
      Yeah, this how
      We gon' do this
      (Uh, uh, ooh)

      Yo, girl you taste
      Like a cinnabun
      So sweet from the
      Thighs to the cheek
      Sex on the beach
      Check the size of my meat
      Call me the butcher
      Ludacris King Ding-a-Ling
      Sheet smusher
      Sweet street pusher
      Give me that gusher
      Nasty stuff, look up, I took her
      Ran out of liquor
      (Time to re-up)
      Here comes her nigga
      (Who gives a f***?)
      Rap fame and plat' thangs
      They can't hang
      I mack dames and
      Pack thangs and act strange
      Jang-a-ling dang-a-ling
      Oh no they can't stop
      Take it to the floor
      Back up and then drop
      Effervescent time
      Time's of the essence
      Make 'em undress in
      Less than three seconds
      So whores keep steppin'
      Whores keep slobbin'
      Sex as a weapon
      Clothes that I slept in
      Streets keep mobbin'
      Thieves keep robbin'
      Get two in your butt
      Three to your noggin'
      Creepin' and crawlin'
      I'm incogneg'
      Can't catch the balls then
      You in the wrong league
      Let a dog breathe
      Watch a pimp walk
      Shut yo' as* up when
      You hear a pimp talk
      Friskier dreams
      Krispier Kremes
      You lookin' mighty
      Fine in them jeans

      [Chorus:]
      All you brothers want a
      Fatty girl, fatty girl
      Fatty girl, who me?
      You know I got a
      Fatty girl, fatty girl
      Fatty girl, what's she mean?
      Ever since I got a
      Fatty girl, fatty girl
      Fatty girl, fat as a b****
      Fatty girl, fatty girl
      Fatty girl

      Uh uh hot fire hot
      (Step up and
      Represent player)
      International baller baby

      Heeshy
      Young birds in the Coupe goin'
      Heeshy
      (Papi tell me if
      You don't feel me)
      Easy, I feel greasy
      When you squeeze me
      (Cut de blood claat talk and
      Do what ya wan' please me)
      I'm talkin' down home
      Smothered in gravy, Cool J be
      Havin' young ladies
      Bustin' like three eighties
      Lubricated silencers
      Crushin' all challengers
      Gats that be claimin' they Glocks
      But really Dillingers
      Get it?
      Glock Dillinger
      I'm big you small
      More nuts on your face
      Than graffiti on the wall
      Hair like Brillo
      Cuttin' up my pillow
      Got 'em sayin' (hello)
      Naked in a tub of a Jello
      Still no competition
      Still flow nigga listen
      (I'm not supposed to
      Do this type of thing
      I'm a Christian)
      Amen
      It's like a scene out
      Of Player's magazine
      Let them other cats holla
      L'll make you scream

      [Chorus:]

      Aiyyo
      Welcome home Murray

      Yo, this is in thought
      Of those broads
      Who got the goods
      To the chicks who don't
      Eh it's still all good
      Some broads got an
      Automatic thickness for eight
      You'll soon get it
      Just stay workin' hard at it
      Goodness gracious
      Good God almighty
      You got a badoonka donk
      Girl don't hurt nobody
      Toes all painted, feet all out
      It's an aphrodisiac for
      The mall without a doubt
      Juicy chunky stanky funky
      Gut slappin' ball slappin' cater
      To your every fantasy
      You got your tongue clitoris tits
      And belly pierced
      (All that?)
      Necklace around yo' waist
      Toe rings, girl do yo' thang
      I mean, in them jeans
      Yo shape is beautiful
      And I'm "For you, by you"
      Like FUBU
      (B**** you know the name)
      Whoo-wee Jesus
      JoJo K-Ci and Mary
      Girl you don't know
      What you do to me
      (Lord have mercy)
      Ain't no doubt about it
      When she walk by
      Tongues hang out
      Eyes pop out the socket
      (Bing)
      Cats cringe and point like pssh
      Ummph you can see that
      Thang from the front
      We gas those up like
      Full service
      And, keep 'em drunk
      Like Kathie Lee Curtis
      And when you shake it
      You rock my world
      I done died and
      Went to heaven
      You got a fatty girl

      [Chorus:]

      SONGWRITERS:
      BARNES, SAMUEL / OLIVIER, JEAN / SMITH, JAMES TODD / WILLIAMS, PHARRELL / MURRAY, KEITH / BRIDGES, CHRIS
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