Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Freaky Thangs, artist - Ludacris. Album song Word Of Mouf, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Freaky Thangs |
It’s two a.m. in the morning and it uhh. |
light showers and you’re probably hookin up with that girl |
that’s been, two-wayin you all week. |
Her baby daddy’s out |
of town so uhh, you can fuck around. |
It’s okay to check in |
that Motel 6. $ 59.95, not a cent more, for that dirty-ass ho. |
Yeah. |
Stop by that convenience store and pick up them rubbers — |
magnum I hope. |
This is Phazon Love and uhh, I love hoes. |
I just don’t pay 'em! |
Cut up! |
Know we like that, get that cut up |
Freaky thangs, we be bout 'em |
Get that cut up! |
Oh-whooooooo, cut up |
Freaky thangs, we be bout 'em |
I’m kinda hopin that maybe you wanna kick it in the L.A.C. |
So later on we’ll be rollin |
Drop-tops I’m hittin yo' hot spots I’m top notch |
My niggaz never listen but I told 'em |
When I catch you at the game runnin game at the A.U.C. |
that later on we’d be bonin |
Fat cats I’m ready to tap that so back that |
No wonder why you wakin up up swollen |
I’m feelin you Luda', smokin my buddha, coochie recruiter |
Comin at the fatty in a platinum Caddy so back it up fast |
Hit it a hour and a half, watch the spectacular splash |
on the back and leave it drippin down the crack of her ass |
Call me Mr. Magillicuddy, chasin booty soft as silly puddy |
Killin for money, still a thug get bump; |
from some pokin |
and locomotion hittin bunnies, for threesome getcha buddy |
When I’m feelin scummy I love to cut |
Tan skin so, butter soft I’m rippin the buttons off yo' - BLOUSE |
Smell the aroma of a dingaling king Ludacris when I’m in yo' - HOUSE |
Check the ratio of men to women and women to men when down — SOUTH |
Hot fellatio, hot jalapenos holla while they in yo' - MOUTH |
So we love that k-k-k-k |
Now I got the feelin we can cut the hell out each other |
And I hope we be the same thang — freaks |
We can get the mattress goin eh-err, eh-err |
Handlin business while I bang bang — skeet |
Wash the dick off and kick off another session again |
I can break 'em off in the shower, kitchen flo' or the outdoors |
The pieces from the East is the shit |
and the flesh in the West is the best |
but Twista love them Chicago and South hoes |
Come up out yo', negligee, freak 'em on a regular day |
Cum six times — but it’s seven today |
Ludacris in the back of your Chev-e-rolet |
Ahh, ahh! |
What’s my name? |
So magical I come and touch the game |
You motherfuckers really lust to gain |
Nothin but hatin and a look of disgust |
So it’s must, stay «Adrenaline Rush» |
Wonderin why they don’t be bustin the same |
I’m clutchin my thang; |
stuffin in it, strokin it down, beat the stuff up |
Uh-uh shorty, don’t run from it |
She give me the booty I’m breakin it off |
I can tell a style by the way that she walk |
Fatty flickin like it was dubs on it |
Peep how this player got skills, get 'em out the gator high heels |
Pullin rubbers and swishers up out your Prada bag |
Wanna smoke 'dro I got a bag, take a proper drag befo' I tap it |
I love the chicks that got a lotta ass, so we love that k-k-k-k |
Bubble, bubble bubbles is in the bathtub |
Makin you stutter from the b-body butters and backrubs |
It’s killin me thinkin about the bottles that pop |
The models that swallow willin, up under my pillow stayin strapped up |
If it tickles in the middle from Mr. Pickles you try to escape |
So give me the rope you gettin wrapped up |
Rooty tooty so fruity and fresh, I’m fresh and fruity |
Ya duty’s to figure the booty’s gettin slapped up |
I love them chicks that be thick as a loaf of bread |
Long as I can still grab her legs, and push 'em up by her head |
How I dip up in it we can make a video |
but I got the radio bumpin Jagged Edge by the bed |
When you wanna get up witcha cutty buddy |
come on and dip up through the hideout with Twist' |
But after we do what we gon' do getcha purse and get together |
because now you gots to ride out — bitch! |
Oh 'Cris, can you — do it again, that’s what they askin me |
Hit skins, causin catastrophes |
Get pinned, by me and my family |
Sip gin, fulfillin yo' fantasies |
In yo condition I’m wishin you’ll take a lickin |
and keep on tickin from thicker thighs |
Finger lickin never get sick and tired, just take a look in her eyes |
and you can tell she’s a figure five, so we love that k-k-k-k |
Cut up, gettin brains, in the Range |
We love to cut up cause we like them freaky thangs |
I like it when you let me try, anythang |
Cause girl I ain’t got nothin but time |
Let a nigga get a little cut up girl |
I come from the eighth planet in the 19th galaxy, |
where the royal penis is clean, yo' majesty. |
Can it be, |
Sheila E, Appalonia, Vanity, all mad at me? |
I’m the |
Prince dick of insanity. |
I’m good lovin, body-rockin, |
knockin boots all night long, we not stoppin. |
I don’t care if the kids watchin, I stir it like motherfuckin |
coffee and brown sugar. |
Girls dem sugar. |
World class lover. |
Kama sutra, porno music producer. |
Tallywhacker is a rock hard |
storm trooper with a purple helmet, made for crushin |
pink cookies. |
Goonie goo-goo, we cut bigfoots and wookies; |
and fat women, because they need love too. |
So go on big girl, whatchu gon' do? |