Testi musica canzoni

[Chorus: Ludacris - repeat 2X](Oh No!) I caught him with a blow to the chest (Oh No!) My hollow put a hole in his vest(Oh No!) I'm bout to send two to his dome(Oh No!) Cry babies go home![Verse One: Ludacris]I got people scared as FUCK like when condoms breakOr how your heart deals with eatin' eighty pounds of steakSo put your belly on a plate and watch your weightYou frostin' like a flake and Ludacris feels grrreat!Who want come face me, face come want who?And women give me face until they're face turns blueThey can't breathe, dick to mouth recessatationA tight squeeze witch stops the length to conversationsI Playstations, duck cops and lose agentsI'm Doctor Love, I close curtains and fuck patientsWhen I kick and rip and flip an indespensable rhymeMy black ass is so hungry I'll take a bite out of crimeAnd it'll hurt if I swallow, but even more if I chokeNeighbors called the fire station off the blunt that I smokeYou see I crush cowards, funerals I'll send flowersAnd I'm on the overpass flick pennies at rush hour[Chorus][Verse Two: Ludacris]You see I'm ambidextrous I slap ass with both handsDelete your first steps, but I'll save the last danceI just bought some new guns my mama said "it ain't worth it"But I'm at the shooting range just 'cause practice makes perferctBullseye, I stunt growth and stop livesYou run with niggas that's more chicken then pot piesBok bok bok I'm shakin your tale feathersI got big balls, I'm a SAC King like Chris WebberLuda' will take you back to duck hunt and double dribbleWhen niggas sold quarters and dimes and smoked nickelsMy cars got big TVs and satellitesI got a Wheel of Fortune 'cause I flipped O's like Vanna WhiteAnd the servey says? (Kill a mutha fucka now)Could it be off with his head? (Or shoot a mutha fucka down)Ground round, ground chuck your ground beefBullets gather round then I shoot rounds around teeth[Chorus][Verse Three: Ludacris]I kick niggas in they're ass reboot 'em like laptopsAnd they wouldn't even box if I gave 'em a flat topYou punks pucker and pout, bicker and babbleNow they all lost for words like I beat 'em in ScrabbleYou see I'm from a small town called "Fresh out a cop's ass"Where Mr. Head-Potatoes are skinned they get mashedI smell puss from fifty yardsY'all not playin with full decks as if I jacked out ya Jacks and left fifty cardsCatch me in Vegas spinnin' the greenI re-up with more chips than a vending machineThen you can catch me in Rome maggots in brauds and sticking 'emAnd you'll be at home picking your bougars and flicking 'emA drug dealer's dream, so fresh and I'm so cleanI'm a grown ass man and you're sweeter than sixteenSo go and kick rocks peons you're just rookiesHeaded down stairs to get you some milk and cookies[Chorus - 2X]more