Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fat Lady, artist - Ultra. Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Song language: English
Fat Lady |
| Yeah y’all it’s me, devestating Reverand Tom |
| The church is open here |
| Sessions will get bigger, my stats will grow |
| I don’t call my stuff funk |
| Gospel-vomic, let’s get raw |
| Yeah… |
| I used to look at girls, they were slim with fat stomachs |
| In resteraunts, dog face, your girl made me vomit |
| I took my goggles off, threw up in the garbage can |
| I spit up more, earlin more on the garbage man |
| She called her boyfriend, her girlfriend look like Pigpen |
| I got loose and grabbed the horse right from the moose |
| Right in L.A., Hollywood, in front of Roscoe’s |
| Plastic freaks, lookin at me like I’m an average Joe |
| She said, «I think you’re stupid,» I said, «You're big and fat — |
| I’mma have to diss you, and step up in that rectum crack» |
| Take off that hair, now you bald, let me make the call |
| Watch your lip, and I’mma make your guts fall |
| I see stretch marks that’s dark like |
| You best to kneel, let the Reverand heal you |
| Fat lady! |
| (Big woman) |
| Fat lady! |
| (Big woman) |
| Fat lady! |
| (Big woman) |
| Fat lady! |
| (Big woman) |
| Here’s a napkin, wipe off your lips and lose them fat hips |
| I know your toes smell, your butt smell like corn chips |
| You was about what? |
| Lookin bougie, I ain’t the one |
| You try to pour your drink on me, go' head call the bouncers |
| My cousin outside, with two tecs, and forty ounces |
| Them homos at the door, didn’t want none — further more |
| You started first fats, I’mma quench your thirst |
| Don’t need no pens, why them niggas lookin at my hearse? |
| With two grenades in my coat, a bomb in my pocket |
| I’ll make this club jump off just like a Houston Rocket |
| Like Monica said, «Just one of those days — you take it personal» |
| Yes. |
| You tried to laugh at me, my thousand dollar white shoes |
| Don’t mess with me my girl, I’ll put your business in the news |
| Take off that wig and hairpiece |
| Remove your contacts, I’ll break you down like a clown |
| (Man, why you wild man?) |
| Standing over there with fat cellulite, lookin goofy |
| With NBA players with cheap suits lookin doofy |
| My shit’s Italian, and made by Lou Bernazini |
| You havin Fatburgers, wine please with linguini |
| My girl’s from Paris, she models — do you feel embarassed? |
| Aluminum foil dress that won’t impress |
| Wipe that chili off your neck, them hamburgers is a mess |
| With more red meat, you can’t look so petite |
| The devil’s cookin, your pot of grease smells sweet |
| You in this land of Sodom & Gomorrah |
| Should steal away in prime time, your makeup is the poorest |
| You lookin almost white like Michael Jackson |
| Mariah Carey flap but you gets no rectum action |
| Stomach out, doo doo stain I spray with Shout |
| I’m innocent, I never bothered anybody |
| You gets trained, remain seated on the potty |
| Truly yours |
| Once again, devestating Reverand Tom |
| I’d like to say peace to my man out there Kool Keith |
| Automator, Kut, T.R. |
| Love, Biz |
| Devestating Reverand Tom |