War Drums - Quakers, Phat Kat, Guilty Simpson

No need to ring my phone if you ain’t got nothing for me

My fans told me Kat you been chilling enough

Now it’s time to come and crush 'em with the rugged and rough

Dirty coach yeah I see you, wouldn’t wanna be you

Smoke more weed than the nigga Wiz Khalifa

Catch me backstage setting off smoke detectors

Designer ganja collector, marijuana professor

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some shit my man called God’s Vagina

Soon as he fired up you never smelt nothing finer

Was that your hottest man, send him over, I wanna meet him

What he said, I couldn’t believe him

Had to fry him, fricassee him

Little broke ass nigga still working for per diem

My niggas stay grinding from the AM to the PM

Get caught at end of the barrel, you wouldn’t want to be him

Fucking with some gladiators in the Coliseum

I’m colder than a billionaire’s shoulders

You put stock in him, these slugs are shareholders

I’m working on my temper, don’t tempt me fool

I make 'em swan dive from balconies in empty pools

My flavor ride for the faculty, empty tools

Super soak 'em til shit get fool from the heat

Oxymoron, vegetables from the beef

Try saying that slick shit without teeth

I do the shit the average motherfucker won’t do

And say the shit the average emcee can’t fuck with

You’re stupid if you thinking that that bitch want you

With me she get lucky, with you she get stuck with

We playing with big budgets

Spit muskets, hit harder than Dick Butkus

You sneak out restaurants running out on your bill

While I’m really 'bout to ante on that house on the hill, ill