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Ludacris - Word of Mouf Album Lyrics



Ludacris - Word of Mouf Lyrics






Coming 2 America

The royal penis is clean your highness
Thank you, king shit

Yeah motherf*ckers! Welcome to the United States of America.
Time to roll out the red carpet on y'all bitch asses.
Hailin from the filthy, dirty South, where the Kings lay.
Ludacris; Disturbin' Tha Peace family. Recognize royalty
when you hear it. The throne has been taken, so kiss this
nigga's earring. Luda throw some grapes on these bitches!

[Ludacris]
These bitches throwin rose petals at my feet mayn!
They wanna spoil me, treatin me like royalty;
what I'm 'sposed to do? It's such a sweet thang
Work that track, whip 'em like Kunta
That's why they stay down, they loyal citizens of Zamunda
By way of A-T-L; if you disagree
don't even look at me ho don't pass go just go straight to jail
With no probation or bail, but this ain't Monopoly
It's Jolly Green Giants cause we smoke so much broccoli
Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O's! Luda's oodles of noodles
And testin me is like pitbulls put up to poodles
My rap career goes back further than yo' father hairline
It's Ludacris - I pack more nuts than Delta Airlines
I'm fly, even when I get high I work cash
And even got my coats bumped up to first class
I'm boss to all employees - and I'm here to teach the principle
Cause I've been saved by mo' bells than Lark Vorhees

Man f*ck that nigga 'Cris man, for real man. I'm tired of
this shit man. Man I try to rap for the nigga, I try to get
a nigga tracks; he ain't hearin my shit. Man for real.
Man my four-year-old son can rap better than that nigga;
man that nigga garbage. Man I got talent too, the nigga ain't
hearin me. Man iii-iiiis this shit on? 'Cris, c'mon 'Cris.
'Cris, f'real man. F*CK YOU NIGGA, MAN F*CK YOU!

[Ludacris]
F*ck you too! What you wanna do, scrawny nigga
But I got a arsenal of automatics down to twenty-twos
Know how to use 'em, fight dirty as SHIT
I throw a grenade and all-in-one bury a CLIQUE
You see y'all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos
And comin up shorter than five Danny DeVitos
I'm on a cool ranch, get laid more than Fritos
With five strippers, four wives and three amigos
I go scuba divin in Bays at Montego
I find gold links and snatch 'em like I'm Deebo
But I'm the light-skinteted version of Mandingo
I've seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo
I used to run numbers in line they caled me BINGO
Cause I'm big, you a little star, you just twinkle
Old asses like sharpeis, y'all all wrinkled
And I stay with more BULLETS than yo' Billboard singles

Ho that is just too much! You just gotta give applause
he is definitely all f'real - yaseeI'msayin? Ha ha I be
f*ckin with him all the time, yahhmean? I'm sayin, I used
to just (?) now home come through he want filters a purple,
he want quarters a purple now. I want y'all to trip with it
man, I woulda sold him a Coupe (?) we coulda played with,
yaseewhatI'msayin?

[Ludacris]
Yeah, can I get a little hit of that, little nigga with a bigga sack
See piece of the bigger trap look at that God be rollin on that
Where they kick it at? And a lot of people just don't know
Shady Park you heard just don't go
Quick to flip the bird up po'-po'
Makin the way for that rodeo, that rodeo show!
Gotta hit 'em with a reload, I gotta put 'em with the people
I gotta make a nigga stop, drop, roll - oh no where the beat go?
Bring that, shit back, didn't wanna hear that, clik-clak
Tons of fun with guns
F*ck all the lil' chit-chat get back get that get that
Who knows, who goes there? Motherf*ckers it's Poppa Bear
Stop and stare; pourin out a lil' gasoline and then drop a flare
I'm on, FIRE! And you know I can't stop 'til I re-TIRE!
Oh no, we stay swoll, rollin on Vogue TIRES!
Right down the avenue, passin you rapidly stackin
In the back of the Cadillac and packin emergency action
Camera, LIGHT LIGHTS, throwin a punch and then FIGHT FIGHT
Packin a lunch and then BITE BITE, A-T-L stay TIGHT TIGHT

I'm just tryin to save ya shorty. I'ma let you know
it's real down heah. When you ride down that two-eighty-five,
and you go past Kincaid, get ready to go past that Cambleton Road
fo' you get it cut free shorty just shave; cause dat where dem
real niggaz at. I ain't lyin when you in Decatur and you flossin
down Glenwood, Candler Road or Rainbow to shave!
Cause dat where dem real niggaz at. When you're goin down that
ol' Nat Hill and you pass dat second waffle house 'fore you get
to the rich niggaz daaang, cause dat where dem real niggaz at!
Matter of fact, just shave when ya get to Georgia nigga.
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES, SHONDRAE L CRAWFORD
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




Rollout (My Business)

Roll out! Roll out! Roll out! Roll out!

Roll out! Roll out! Roll out! Roll out!

I got my twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that
Twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that

Now where'd you get that platinum chain with them diamonds in it?
Where'd you get that matching Benz with them windows tinted?
Who them girls you be with when you be riding through?
Man I ain't got nothing to prove, I paid my dues
Breaking the rules, I shake fools while I'm taking a cruise
Tell me who's your weed man, how do you smoke so good?
You's a superstar boy, why you still up in the hood?
What in the world is in that BAG, what you got in that BAG?
A couple a cans a whoop ass, you did a good ass job of just eyeing me, spying me

I got my twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that
Twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that

Man, that car don't come out until next year, where in the f*ck did you get it?
That's eighty-thousand bucks GONE, where in the f*ck did you spend it?
You must have eyes on your back, cause you got money to the ceiling
And the bigger the cap, the bigger the peeling
The better I'm feeling, the more that I'm chilling
Winning, drilling and killing the feeling
Now who's that bucked-naked cook fixin three-course meals?
Getting goosebumps when her body tap the six inch heels
What in the world is in that ROOM, what you got in that ROOM?
A couple a gats, a couple a knives, a couple of rats, a couple of wives
Now it's time to choose

I got my twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that
Twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that

Are you custom-made, custom-paid, or you just custom-fitted?
PlayStation 2 up in the ride and is that Lorenzo-kitted?
Is that your wife, your girlfriend or just your main bitch?
You take a pick, while I'm rubbing the hips,
Touching lips to the top of the dick and then whew!
Now tell me who's your housekeeper and what you keep in your house?
What about diamonds and gold, is that what you keep in your mouth?
What in the world is in that CASE, what you got in that CASE?
Get up out my face, you couldn't relate,
Wait to take place at a similar pace
So shake, shake it

I got my twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that
Twin Glock .40s, cocked back
Me and my homies, so drop that
We rolling on twenties, with the top back
So much money, you can't stop that

Get out my business, my business
Stay the f*ck up out my business, ah
'Cause these niggas all up in my shit and it's my business, my business
Stay the f*ck up out my business, 'cause it's mine, oh mine
My business, my business
Stay the f*ck up out my business
'Cause these niggas all up in my shit
And it's my business, my business
Stay the f*ck up out my business, 'cause it's mine, oh mine

Timbaland
Ludacris
Disturbin Tha Peace
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Bridges, Timothy Mosley, Papa Serigne Seck
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, DUCHAMP, INC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Go 2 Sleep

[Hook 3x]
GO TO SLEEP, hoe to sleep, GO TO SLEEP, hoe to sleep
IF YOU'RE TIRED BE QUIET AND GO TO SLEEP, hoe to sleep

[Ludacris]
Maaan, I tell a hoe to go to sleep (go to sleep)
They turn around and frown, gotta make 'em six feet deep
'Cause we knock 'em unconscious with that non-sense
Read inbetween that fine print, think about lyrical con-tent
Then about where your time spent
Mess around get your guys hit; a ten HUUUT!
I send Three-Six ol' sheeyit, nigga WHAAAT?
If ya tired ya tired, if ya snooze ya lose
But'chu you won't wrap up ya bandages, or heal you wound

[Infamous 2-0]
Nigga I got shotty's and semi's - I love 'dro and Henne' ?
All brown and skinny, but I've f*cked up so many
I got QP's and halves - if we beefin' I blast
You sleepin' I laugh, ask 'Cris, I'm off the rip
I had this hoe who talked too much; I had to off the bitch
2-0, Mr. Crayola; niggas know what I mean
'Cause I slang brown, white, yellow, purple and green
And all you faggot-muthaf*ckas gotta know the routine

[Hook 4x]

[Crunchy Black]
Bitch it's me again, kickin' in your f*ckin' doors
I look for div-idends - I ain't lookin' for you hoes
You bitch can't com-prehend; let me put one in your boot
Let me put one in your boat, so you ? can go to sleep
So, lay down bitch; gimme all that you dreamed for
Gimme fancy cars, gimme bling-bling-bling, boi
It don't mean a thing, boi, for me that ain't gon' swing, boi
Them god damn toys; do you know what I mean, boi?

[DJ Paul]
Now if you warrin' and runnin' from them Three-Six niggas
This forty-five gon' give a reason to sleep, nigga
Or bustin' massive 'round some S.K.
My last trip to A-T-L I f*cked yo' cascade
I'm strippin' bitches and I'ma ball f*cker with a limp
They call me infer-stripper, sexy, red hoe's pimp
And quick to sink her on the nigga 'cause this what it's 'bout
We rob that trick and stick his dick off in his f*ckin' mouth
We Memphis niggas

[Hook 4x]

[Juicy J]
North, north, south, south, Westwood, Orange Mound
Nigga we be smokin' life; never shut ya Charlie Brown
Memphis niggas in this bitch; pockets full, ya know we bail
Hooked up with my nigga 'Cris, then we head to A-T-L
Playas wild, throwin' bows, tellin' chickens, "F*ck you hoe!"
Nigga rollin' up the moe, as long that white shit up they nose
Mayn this town is like my town, so we stayed and hung around
Juicy J be high as f*ck; catch me in the lost and found

[Lil' Fate]
Better use common sense checkin' me out for bitch I can stand for
And up, get yaself in this clique
Without my tongue licks, behind me gettin' handcuffed by a slut
Look, I'm from Gittero what?
Southside niggas throw it up when it's time to get buck
Niggas in the back of the club postin' up
Waitin' for a nigga that's new to make it up
Ass in, ain't no askin'; it's no tolerance as long bitch check in
She wit' me, comments will only get'chu basically eternally resting
So abide by the call of the streets
If ya got a bitch better keep her on a leash
íCause Lil Fate gonna creep in ya home while you gone
Have you comin' back findin' nutt on yo' sheets

[Hook 4x]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: PAUL BEAUREGARD, CHRISTOPHER BRIDGES, DARNELL CARLTON, SHONDRAE L CRAWFORD, JORDAN HOUSTON, BOBBY SANDIMANIE, ARBIE WILSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Ultra Tunes, BMG Rights Management




Cry Babies (Oh No)

(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

(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

I got people scared as f*ck like when condoms break
Or how your heart deals with eatin' eighty pounds of steak
So put your belly on a plate and watch your weight
You frosted like a flake and Ludacris feels great!

Who want come face me, face come want who?
And women give me face 'til their face turns blue
They can't breathe, dick to mouth resuscitation
A tight squeeze what stops the lengthy conversations

I Playstations, duck cops and lose agents
I'm Doctor Love, I close curtains and f*ck patients
When I kick and rip and flip an indispensable rhyme
My black ass is so hungry I'll take a bite out of crime

And it'll hurt if I swallow, but even more if I choke
Neighbors called the fire station off the blunt that I smoke
You see I crush cowards, funerals I'll send flowers
And I'm on the overpass flick pennies at rush hour

(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

(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

You see I'm ambidextrous I slap ass with both hands
Delete your first steps, but I'll save the last dance
I just bought some new guns my mama said "it ain't worth it"
But I'm at the shooting range just 'cause practice makes perferct

Bullseye, I stunt growth and stop lives
You run with niggas that's more chicken then pot pies
Bok bok bok I'm shakin' your tale feathers
I got big balls, I'm a SAC King like Chris Webber

Luda' take you back to duck hunt and double dribble
When niggas sold quarters and dimes and smoked nickels
My cars got big TVs and satellites
I got a Wheel of Fortune 'cause I flipped O's like Vanna White

And the survey says? (Kill a mutha f*cka now)
Could it be off with his head? (Or shoot a mutha f*cka down)
Ground round, ground chuck your ground beef
Bullets gather round then I shoot rounds around teeth

(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

(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

I kick niggas in their ass, reboot 'em like laptops
And they wouldn't even box if I gave 'em a flat top
You punks pucker and pout, bicker and babble
Now they all lost for words like I beat 'em in Scrabble

You see I'm from a small town called "Fresh off a cop's ass"
Where Mr. Head-Potatoes are skinned they get mashed
I smell puss from fifty yards
Y'all not playin' with full decks as if I jacked out ya Jacks and left fifty cards

Catch me in Vegas spendin' the green
I re-up with more chips than a vending machine
Then you can catch me in Rome, mackin' some broads and sticking 'em
And you'll be at home picking your boogers and flicking 'em

A drug dealer's dream, so fresh and I'm so clean
I'm a grown ass man and y'all are sweeter than sixteen
So go and kick rocks, peons, you're just rookies
Headed downstairs to get you some milk and cookies

(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

(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

(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

(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
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Brian Bridges, Kasseem Dean
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




She Said

(feat. Fate Wilson)

[Chorus: repeat 2x]
She said she never done it, she said she never tried
She's sittin there tellin a motherf*ckin lie

[Verse 1: Ludacris]
She said she was a Christian and she grew up in the church (in the church)
Would stay a Virgin if for better or for worse (or for worse)
Had plenty friends and got offers all the time (all the time)
Swore up and down she was just one of a kind (of a kind)
She said she's loved, but she's never gotten pimped (gotten pimped)
Not dominated couldn't imagine, never dreamt (never dreamt)
And though she steady looking for the perfect man (perfect man)
To buy a ring and take her motherf*cking hand (man)

[Chorus: repeat 2x]

[Verse 2: Ludacris]
She said her stuff was sacred, and her momma told her so (told her so)
and that she went and got it pierced on the low (on the low)
Can you believe she's been waiting for so long?(for so long)
to get a grade A certified shlong (certified shlong)
She said her parents never let her out the house (out the house)
Because they knew it was so dirty in the south (in the south)
She hates to boast, and you know she hates to brag (hates to brag)
but, man I gotta let her cat up out the bag (out the bag)

[Chorus: repeat 2x]

[Verse 3: Ludacris]
She said she never tried to take it in the butt (in the butt)
But, knew some ho down all around sluts (all around sluts)
She even said she never licked another girl (another girl)
and never had any chocolate, vanilla swirl (vanilla swirl)
She said that ring up in her tongue was for show (was for show)
and she would never be mistaken for a hoe (for a hoe)
She telling lies over 20 years old (20 years old)
I guess the game is to be sold, not told (Whoa!)

[Chorus: repeat 2x]

[Verse 4: Fate Wilson]
She said she had a nigga who was only there for rent (there for rent)
And wouldn't shake her booty for a red cent (red cent)
She said she never f*cked 3 niggas at a time (at a time)
Til Lil Fate started f*ckin with her mind (with her mind)
She said she couldn't see how women turn tricks (turn tricks)
And couldn't picture tryna suck a nigga dick (suck a dick)
She had respect, and wouldn't do nothing wrong (nothing wrong)
But, she the reason why we made this song (this song)

[Chorus: repeat 4x]

[Repeat 'til fade]
She's said she never done it





[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES, ARBIE WILSON, RICO R. WADE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.




Howhere (Skit)

[Ludacris] Hey, get me 2-Ho-4! Yo, hello?
[I-20] Luda?
[Luda] What's up boy?
[I-20] What's up, nigga? This is 20
[Luda] Where you at?
[I-20] Shit, over here at the Texa-ho filling up
[Luda] Yeah, yeah, I feel that
[I-20] Yo yo check it out, yo you still got that girl Stacy number from Valle-hoe?
[Luda] No, no, I think I lost that
[I-20] Oh no, c'mon, man, I'm trying to cut her, man! You can't check your Hoe-ledex or something?
[Luda] Man hold on let me see dog. Stacy, Stacy... oh Chicag-ho?
[I-20] Nah, nah, nigga Valle-ho!
[Luda] Stacy, Stacy... Oh, Ohi-ho, that's what you talking about?
[I-20] Nah, nigga, Valle-ho, Valle-ho!
[Luda] Man, your ass! Here we ho again! Nah, man, I'm sitting here looking and I don't have it. I don't see no Valle-ho
[I-20] F*ck f*ck it, man; I'll cut Shondrae. Oh, hey man, congratulations, I forgot to tell you that shit. didn't your sister graduate today?
[Luda] Oh yeah dog you know what I'm saying? Valor-dick-whorian and all man
[I-20] Yeah, that's tight, man
[Luda] Shit, look, I'm about to break out though, dog, what's up?
[I-20] For real nigga where you finna ho?
[Luda] Yeah, man, I'm about to hit these roomster hoes right quick
[I-20] Aw, nigga, you can't come get me?
[Luda] Nigga, I'm in the middle of howhere! Shit!
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher




Area Codes

I've got hoes
I've got hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes)
Hoes, hoes, hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes)

Now you thought I was just (hoes) 7-7-0 and 4-0-4?
I'm worldwide, bitch, act like y'all don't know
It's the abominable ho man
Globe-trot international postman
Neighbor-dick dope man
7-1-8's, 2-0-2's
I send small cities and states I-O-U's
9-0-1, matter fact 3-0-5
I'll jump off the G4, we can meet outside
So control your hormones and keep your drawers on
'Til I close the door and I'm jumping your bones
3-1-2, 3-1-3 (oh), 2-1-5, 8-0-tree's (oh)
Read your horoscope and eat some hors d'oeuvres
Ten on pump one, these hoes is self serve
7-5-7, 4-1-0's, my cell phone just overloads

I've got hoes
I've got hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes)
Hoes, hoes, hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes, I've got hoes)

Now every day is a ho-liday
So stop the violence and put the .44 away, skeet, shoot a ho today
5-0-4, 9-7-2
7-1-tree, what you gon' do?
You checking out the scene, I'm checking a ho tonight
With perpendicular vehicular homicide
3-1-4, 2-0-1 (hey)
Too much green, too much fun (hey)
I bang cock in Bangkok
Can't stop, I turn and hit the same spot
Think not, I'm the Thrilla in Manilla
Schlong in Hong Kong
Pimp 'em like Bishop, Magic, Don Juan
Man, after Henny with a coke and a smile
I just pick up the motherf*cking phone and dial
I got my condoms in a big ass sack
I'm slangin' this dick like a New Jack, biatch

Is it 'cause they like my gangsta walk? (Gangsta walk)
Is it 'cause they like my gangsta talk? (Gangsta talk)
Is it 'cause they like my handsome face? (Handsome face)
Is it 'cause they like my gangsta ways? (Gangsta ways, ooh)
Whatever it is, they love it
And they just won't let me be (won't let me be)
I handle my biz, don't rush me (area)
Just relax and let me be free (codes)
Whenever I call (I call), come running
2-1-2 or 2-1-3
You know that I ball (I ball), stop fronting (area)
Or I'll call my substitute freak (codes)

I've got hoes
I've got hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes)
Hoes, hoes, hoes
In different area codes (area)
Area codes (codes)
I've got (uh) hoes

9-1-6, 4-1-5, 7-0-4
Shout out to the 2-0-6
Everybody in the 8-0-8
Ha, ah, 2-1-6, 7-0-2, 4-1-4
3-1-7, 2-1-4's and the 2-8-1's
3-3-4, 2-0-5, I see y'all
Uh, uh, 3-1-8 and the 6-0-1's, 2-0-tree
8-0-4, 4-0-2, 3-0-1
9-0-4, 4-0-7, 8-5-0
7-0-8, 5-0-2
Hoes in different area codes, know that
Southern Hoes-pitality, Norther Exhoes-ure
Haha, ho ridin' on the West Coast

Hey, dude, over here
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Bridges, Billy Nichols, Nathan Hale, Phalon Alexander
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE MUSIC GOES ROUND, REACH MUSIC PUBLISHING, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Growing Pains

Okay, I remember the days
High rights, low lefts, even stevens and fades
Troops, Lottos, and BKs, those was the days
Hi-tec boots spray painted witcha names
T-shirts airbrushed that read the same
Thick herringbone chain, one gold with yo' initial
Harris Photos, group shots, can you remember?
Barry him told his bitch go to the prom and die
Didn't lie shot his-self in the head with the 4-5
When she disobeyed, had North Clayton crazed
Just to reiterate dog those was the days
Fo' the invasions of haters, man crews from all around
Used to get down at True Flavas, bumpin Key Lo
Rockin Damage, Cross Colour and Paco
While playboys stepped in talent shows
Prom night, tux and Kangol was so cool
F*ck them new model cars we ridin' old school (old school)

We were tryin so hard
Hard to survive
'Cause even though we were young
We had to stay strong
No matter what we went through
It was me and my crew
And that's how it went
When we were kids

In 3 months we stayed in Jamestown
Hamwood and Diplomats
Played with Transformers, G.I. Joe's and Thundercats
We was lovin' that
Before they started jackin' jacks
For notes from Red Oaks had folks scared to come through
College Park after dark, Crown Victorias police unmarked cars
Be aware, Wayne Williams was out there, but we ain't care
Kids was gettin' stabbed and ditched out there too busy playin'
Double dare ya touch shorty on the ass, that's a bet
Want your Kool-Aid and sugar, smack your hands and say "sweat"
It's mine now place it in my Louis Vuitton pouch
Thump a nigga on his knuckles make him say ouch
Slouch socks, box Chevy Caprice
Hot Niss, cut da whole Disturbin' Tha Peace
Wit no conscience, broke niggas call 'em non cents
No comments, it's Lil' Fate payin' homage to College Park

We were tryin' so hard
Hard to survive
'Cause even though we were young
We had to stay strong
No matter what we went through
It was me and my crew
And that's how it went
When we were kids

I had a Long John but no Silver, no gold or plat
I was simply red from the years I been holdin' back
With two sides to a book I lick stamps and light matches
And set fires in garbage pails and cabbage patches
A child of the corn been wild since I was born
Climbin' over barbed wire, clothes got torn
Shoes got muddy and my clique turned cruddy
Wherever I go they went they my buddies
I brush teeth, brush naps and calm streets
Dreamin' of Cadillacs, wood wheels and plush seats
Cats with gold teeth and raps with such beats
Macks with no grief and some sacks of green leaf
When I loaded my cap gun I was ready for action
Starin' at beer cans and a moment to crack one
Wanna hang with the big boys and play with the big toys
And be with the people makin' all that got damn noise, man

We were tryin' so hard
Hard to survive
'Cause even though we were young
We had to stay strong
No matter what we went through
It was me and my crew
And that's how it went
When we were kids

We were tryin' so hard
Hard to survive
'Cause even though we were young
We had to stay strong
No matter what we went through
It was me and my crew
And that's how it went
When we were kids
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Brian Bridges, Arbie Wilson, William Bell, Booker T. Jones
Copyright: Lyrics © EMI APRIL MUSIC INC,




Greatest Hits (Skit)

Better than College girls gone wild (woohoo!)
It's more off the chain than Late Night with Miss Cleo
Call me now for your free readin'
Who's the father of the baby?
Disturbing Tha Peace Entertainment presents: The Ludacris Greatest Hits CD, done by random white people
Yeah yeah yeah c'mon what is it?
Give it to me now, give it to me now, give it to me now, give it to me now
And I want to, you make it so good I don't want to leave
But I have to know what... what is your fantasy?
It's random white people uncut and uncensored and offbeat as f*ck
And the ballin' ass brothers with the candy cars
If you a pimp and you know you don't do the hoes
When you get on the floor
Drop them hoes?
If you a pimp and you don't know... shit
You've never seen white people like this
You've never heard white people like this
You doin' hoe activities with hoe tendencies
Hoes are your friends, hoes are your enemies
Speakin of hoes, why do you think you take a hoe to a hotel
Hotel everybody?
It's random white people doing Ludacris' greatest hits
Send all checks and money orders
To P.O. Box 9999 Atlanta, GA 30303
It's Random White People on Deez Nuts Records, a division of Disturbing Tha Peace Entertainment
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher




Move Bitch

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way

Oh no, the fight's out
I'm 'bout to punch your lights out
Get the f*ck back, guard your grill
There's somethin' wrong, we can't stay still
I've been drankin' and bustin' two
And I been thankin' of bustin' you
Upside your motherf*ckin' forehead
And if your friends jump in, (aw girl), they'll be mo' dead
Causing confusion, Disturbing The Peace
It's not an illusion, we runnin' the streets
So, bye-bye to all you groupies and gold diggers
Is there a bumper on your ass? (No, nigga)
I'm doin' a hundred on the highway
So if you do the speed limit, get the f*ck outta my way
I'm D.U.I., hardly ever caught sober
And you about to get ran the FUCK over

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way (bitch)

Move, bitch, get out the way (watch out, watch out)
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way (watch out, bitch)
Move, bitch, get out the way (watch out, watch out)
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way (watch out)

Here I come, here I go
Uh oh, don't jump, bitch, move
You see them headlights? You hear that f*ckin' crowd?
Start that goddamn show, I'm comin' through
I hit the stage and knock the curtains down
I f*ck the crowd up, that's what I do
Young and successful, sex symbol
Now bitches want me to f*ck 'em, true, true
Hold up, wait up, shorty
"Oh, ah, what's up, gettin' my dick sucked, what are you doin'?"
Besides minding my f*ckin' business
Tryna get my paper, child support suing
Give me that truck and take that rental back
Who bought these f*ckin' TV's and the jewelry, bitch, tell me that?
No, I ain't bitter, I don't give a f*ck
But I'ma tell you like this, bitch
You better not walk in front of my tour bus

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way

2-0, I'm on the right track
Beef, got the right MAC
Hit the trunk, grab the pump, pump, I'll be right back
We buyin' bars out, showin' stars out
We heard there's hoes out, so we brought the cars out
Call up Tig, grab the pills 'cause we poppin' tonight
Beat the shit outta security for stoppin' the fight
I got a fifth of that Remy, f*ck the Belve and Cris
I'm sellin' shit up in the club like I work in that bitch
F*ck the dress codes, it's street clothes, we all street niggas
We on the dance floor, throwin' bows, beatin' up niggas
I'm from the Dec', try to disrespect D.T.P.
And watch the bottles start flyin' from the V.I.P.
F*ck this rap shit, we clap, bitch, two in your body
Grab your folk, start a fight, dawg, ruin the party
So move, bitch, get out the way, ho
All you faggot motherf*ckers make way for 2-0
So

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way

Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
Move, bitch, get out the way
Get out the way, bitch, get out the way
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jonathan Smith, Bobby Sandimanie, Michael Tyler, Craig Stephen Lawson, Christopher Bridges
Copyright: Lyrics © Ultra Tunes, Universal Music Publishing Group




Stop Lying (Skit)

[Luda] Damn, man I can't believe them hoes ain't come over here man
[I-20] Nigga I can't believe you told them hoes the truth! You never tell hoes the truth!
(Phone rings)
[Luda] You need to quit calling them hoes!
[I-20] Man check the caller id, man
[Luda] Hey, It's the rich girls, man, the Buckhead girls!
[Both] Yeah! Yeah! Second chance, second chance!
[I-20] Now gimme the phone and let me show you how to do it
[Luda] Deep voice, deep voice
[I-20] What up?
[Girl] Ohhh why you talkin like that?
[I-20] Man, f*ck all that! Y'all coming through?
[Girl] Yeah, we might. I saw you blinging last night!
[I-20] Yeah 30-karat, paid for
[Luda] Hey! Hey, nigga, you wearing my motherf*cking chain again?!
[I-20] Haha, this the bodyguard trippin
[Luda] Nigga, imma whup your motherf*cking ass, nigga!
[I-20] Get off the phone, nigga! Yall coming through though?
[Girl] I don't know; I don't be feeling like drivin
[I-20] Oh shorty I got you! The new Benz truck
[Luda] Hey hey you took that rent a car back, man? We need...
[I-20] Shut the f*ck up!
[Luda] Man, we need to take that shit back, for real!
[I-20] Shut the f*ck up, man! Look anyway baby yall coming through or what?
[Girl] Man, I don't know; who all live there?
[I-20] Bitch this my house
(Abrupt hang up and dialing number)
[I-20] Mama, mama I'm on the phone
[Mama] Hello? Who on the phone? Get off the damn phone! And clean yo damn room!
[Luda] Tell him to stop wearing my damn chain!
[Mama] And stop wearing your brother's damn chain! Who the hell car is in my driveway?!
[Girl] Oh hell no
[I-20] Ah oooh noo
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher




Saturday (Oooh Oooh!)

[ Featuring Sleepy Brown ]

Oooh-oooh
Oooh-oooh
Oooh-oooh
Oooh-oooh

I got a big weed stash, pocket full of cash
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
System on blast, cops just passed
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)

Grease don't pop on the stove no more, moved on up
Double shot Hennessey fill my cup
Luda choke smoke in a big black truck
Should I wild out, what the f*ck?
Act like my rims ain't clean
How you gonna act like my neck don't bling?
Haters get sprayed like Afro-Sheen
But they don't ever really wanna pop them thangs
Cane, cane sugar, man, Luda don't go
And I stopped at a light, pulled off so slow
But I'm out for the night, so pass that dro
So, daddy come home in a Cadillac brome (Cadillac brome?)
Now don't it sound absurd?
Claim College Park where they flip them birds
Trick car alarms, then bend them curves
Chop chop, chunk it up, fat man herb

I got a big weed stash, pocket full of cash
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
System on blast, cops just passed
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)

It's illegal but the plants in my backyard grow, that's my bud
Smoke 'til you drop out, that's my luck
Keep a couple rolled and I hit the club in the back door (nigga, what?)
Act like I don't make clouds
How you gon' act like I don't get loud?
How you gon' act like I don't rock crowds?
And leave a lot of people with a gap tooth smile
If I recollect right then you sound like dirt
But I guess what you don't really know don't hurt
With a vest and a pump, hear the shotgun squirt
My folks on the block, man, they got that work (they got that work)
Don't it smell so good, in Southwest where they rep that hood
Protect your chest, they up to no good
And come through flossin', they wish y'all would

I got a big weed stash, pocket full of cash
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
System on blast, cops just passed
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)

Worldwide hustlers get that dough
Work that tip, get rid of evidence, move that brick
Keep a D eagle with an extra clip
Think it ain't so? (Suck a dick)
Act like I just do rap
How you gon' act like I just ain't strapped?
How you gon' act like I don't push 'Lacs?
Black Eldorado, fifth wheel on back
Itchy finger trigger, man, Luda don't squeeze
With a MAC, with a Glock I'ma make 'em say please
In the back, on the block so the cops say freeze
And I'm so high, I think I got a nose bleed (you gotta nose bleed?)
Don't it smell so sweet?
In Decatur, where they pack that heat
And rob neighbors in the night, creep, creep
I'll see you later, we'll be in them streets

I got a big weed stash, pocket full of cash
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
System on blast, cops just passed
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)

I got a big weed stash, pocket full of cash
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
System on blast, cops just passed
Just seen a big ol' ass, (it's Saturday)
Sticky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
Sticky, icky, icky, icky (oooh-oooh)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Raymond Murray, Rico Wade, Patrick Brown, Christopher Bridges
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Keep It On The Hush

[Preacher]
sister, mother so glad to see you
so glad your parol came through
so glad everybody came out this morning
we reading from the book of hush, today
verse sixty-nine, come on somebody, come on somebody
good to see all of you came out this morning
even though some of you just leave at one twelve
smellin like booty, and hennessee, come on
cabasille double shots, ha-hah, it dont matter!

[Chorus]
Keep it on the hush, dont say nothing
Aint gone be no talking, while Im doing my thang
Keep it on the hush, dont say nothing
Aint gone be no talking, while Im doing my thang

[Ludacris]
Im loving the way your legs go so far back, your one of those flexible girls
I figure your daddy always said you was one of the best in this world
But never the less in this world, Im just proffesional girl
I teach 'em a lesson, have 'em stressin and confessin the girl
How good it was, and how good it could be, if they just tried it
Taking my double dosage skip the daily dick diet
T-ried it, they so excited, and cant hide it
Im trying to do my thang, but you gotta be quiet

[Chorus]

[Ludacris]
Now even when i just come in your house
and cover your mouth because your momma is home
You grippin' the sheets and making a effort not to holler and moan
You got to keep it on the hush, cause we in no rush
You tellin' me its the little things that mean so much
And its an illusion to think you can match what I can do best
So if ya man call, tell him to put some hair on his chest
But he dont even have to know, we keepin it on the low
You walking it like a dog, and stay working it like a pro, so..

[Chorus]

[Ludacris]
Imma taste ya neck, and begin to nibble around your earlobes
Down to your belly button, then im un-snappin' your bra
thinkin' your titties are tryna tell me somethin
Hard nipples, colder then ice-sicles
Workin' it with my tounge, you can just tell me if it tickles
Freaky deaky kinda sneaky, Ludacris and the gang
Disturbin' the peace, we runnin' the streets and steady slangin' them thangs
But you gotta keep the noise down, in order to keep the boy down
Its joy all around, and you know how it sounds, if you just..

[Chorus - repeat til fade]

[Preacher]
As the crime scene evolves, the doors are open, the doors are open

Look at you sister Johnson in the front row
with thongs on, your legs open tryna tempt me
keep it on the hush, i'll be over at about seven o'clock
keep it on the hush, shhh
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: PHALON ANTON ALEXANDER, CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Word of Mouf (Freestyle)

[ Featuring 4-Ize ]

Yea-uh, here we go here we go here we go
Talk about that Word of Mouf baby
Yeuh, yeuh yeuh yeuh yeuh! Here we go, here we go
Ludacris, 4-Ize, D.E. what you want now now now now

Check it
You see I live a life filled with chicken and malt liquor
And women that are real life scratch'n'sniff stickers
I shoot videos and get knobs slobbed in trailers
Then hit stage and break a leg like Lawrence Taylor
You pricks is all talk, and it's bad for your health
See I ain't gotta say shit, money speaks for itself
With all models I make I'm great like five lakes
You got rims on ya truck? Man I got rims in my skates
You rolling on dubs, I roll right into clubs
Dirty as home with more rings than ya tub
You think it's all practical jokes and big bloopers
But I smack bitches with no titties that work at Hooters
Just get a couple of girls that shaking they thangs
Then I put 'em on camera and cut two frames
With some gasoline drawers I'll be going to Hell
Ludacris, f*ck like a nigga fresh out of jail
I got Junkyard Dogs, I'm rowdier than Rod Piper
And my baby's assed out, 'cause I rub my cars with her diapers
So you can pray for now if you sinned in the past
"Word of Mouf" time to wipe that silly grin off yo' ass

These rap cats is soft like R&B singers
It's 4-Ize, I've worked for wings and chicken fingers
I reps mo' parts so Chi-Town could get seen
I'm a Dirty Bird now but I keep shit clean
I rip meanface niggas one by one
Or two by two, I'll take 'em however they come
Instead of a gun, I'll pull out a stick from woodworking
The black Hacksaw Jim Duggin stay lurking
Creepin, I'm in the shadows, the nightshade
You want the tail in the back or, a light fade?
Cause Tony Scissorhands is the barber, the butcher
I kill ya smoke a blunt and forget where I put ya
I'm Soopafly like Snuka, I smack hoes
The black rolls with the dozen attack flows
I rock Shaq's clothes when I Alter Beast
Power up, get big, it's Disturbin' Tha Peace
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Brian Bridges, Tony III Hayes
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Missing Link Music




Get the Fuck Back

[ Featuring Shawnna, I-20, Fate Wilson ]

What the f*ck's up? DTP in this muthaf*cka
And for all y'all that don't like it, do one thang, get the f*ck back
'Cause all my niggas is ready
Luda, 20, Fate, Shawnna
Let's show these muthaf*ckas how we disturb the peace
Get the f*ck back

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
Luda make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsack
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
D-low make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsack
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

Bronson, muthaf*cka, give me more than three feet
DTP in the club, we comin' more than three deep
Your whole crew is weak and my squad is real cash getters
Stayin' more to crunk, our shit bump like bad clippers
How many try to hustle with Dealer then went broke
Infamous, I'm a value meal, I come with the coke
I gotta enough guns for beef, if you want it that way
I'll push your wig back like finger weaves or bad toupee

I lick a load of you niggas, leave kids in the hallways
Catch 'em at they locka (hoo-ahh, blocka blocka)
See 'em on Broadway and tap they ass
Catch 'em in the swimming pool and overlap they ass

I'm from the southside, College Park
G Road, niggas gone
Ride when the beef starts
Don't hold back, let the heat spark
Bust through his vest, bust through his chest
Sleepy hollows laid the nigga to rest, uh

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
Luda make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsack
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
Shaw make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town better love dat
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

What you know about projects, hoes, and murda
Whole lotta game, whole lotta keys and burners
Whole lotta dope fiends, trying to scheme the workers
Whole lotta feds, got them niggas scared to surface
Type of bitch that got the brown in my sock
Find me on tha block tryin' to cop a piece of the crop
Watch me, pull up on me real sweet in a drop
But if you f*ckin' with my paper, feel the heat from the Glock, nigga

We pop bottles, bottles, right over you head, niggas
Put nozzles, nozzles, right over your leg, niggas
Our motto, motto, is kill 'em instead, niggas
We make 'em loose weight, when we Jenny Craig, niggas

All of y'all is half nice, half thugs, and half assed
Only time I go half, is half on a half
But I use a full clip, 'cause I'm a full fledged killa
Part-time MC, full-time drug dealer

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
Luda make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsack
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
Fate make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsacks
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

We them filthy niggas from the South, A-Town representas
Strong armin' maf*ckas, like a Russian sickle
You got issues with us talkin' shit on mixtapes
I'll catch you at a show and beat you with a mixtape
You best pump brakes, 'fore I pump shells and blood oze
I leave niggas like burps (burp), excuse
Just keep on pissin' me off, like a weak kidney
And you will find your family reading your obituary

These people tryin' to scrub the red off
Stains they don't get off
They wanted to bring the pain, so this thang 'bout to set off
Barretas for getting cheddar, you're better off dead off
Yes, you can do it, cut his f*ckin' head off

I got a letter from the government, the other day
They told me that the bitches caught a shipment of my yay
They on their way, three minutes to get the k
Two minutes to get the weight, one minute and I'ma spray

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
We make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town's on my nutsack
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

F*ck that
Get the f*ck back
We make your skull crack
Tuck that
Bitch, your whole town better love that
Cuff that
Put it in your weed, nigga, puff that
What's that
People gon' die tonight

Bang bang kill a man let his brains hang
And when I'm in the court, plead guilty insane
They put me in a ward, I'ma have to maintain
But when I hit bricks won't a damn thing change

Bang bang kill a man let his brains hang
And when I'm in the court, plead guilty insane
They put me in a ward, I'ma have to maintain
But when I hit bricks won't a damn thing change
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Arbie Leedester Jr. Wilson, Bobby Wardell Jr. Sandimanie, Christopher Brian Bridges, Guy Rashawnna, Shondrae Lee Crawford
Copyright: Lyrics © Ultra Tunes, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




Freaky Thangs

(feat. Jagged Edge, Twista)

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 f*ck 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!

[Hook: Jagged Edge]
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

[Ludacris]
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

[Twista]
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

[Ludacris]
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

[Hook]

[Twista]
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

[Ludacris]
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 motherf*ckers 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

[Twista]
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

[Hook]

[Ludacris]
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

[Twista]
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!

[Ludacris]
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

[Hook]

[Jagged Edge - repeat 2X]
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 motherf*ckin
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?





[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER BRIDGES, CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES, BRANDON CASEY, BRANDON D CASEY, BRIAN CASEY, BRIAN D CASEY, SHONDRAE L CRAWFORD, KYLE NORMAN, RICHARD WINGS
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, MISSING LINK MUSIC




Cold Outside

[Ludacris]

[Chorus]

It ain't no one to trust but me
And I got to make sure that I take care of my family
And it ain't no choices 'cause it's cold outside (It's cold outside)

And to my niggas on the block
On the grind and hustlin' tryin' to sell some rocks
You hear the voices say it's cold outside (It's cold outside)

I'm hiding out and smokin' herb
because my boss is getting on my motherf*cking nerves
But I got to take it 'cause it's cold outside (It's cold outside)

See rappin' is my only way
My mama told me just to save it for another day
But I got to make it cause it's cold outside (It's cold outside)

[Verse 1]
Man, I can hear that wind blowing
You say it don't get cold in CP
Well niggas it's been snowing
Even though some might disagree
When business is still slowing
Even if we subject to change
Come up out them diamonds and rings
Even all them dollars and change
Nigga we home-grown
And to those that couldn't take the pressure
Nigga they long gone
Skeet 25 lighters on dressers
Or you'll get zoned on
They be puttin' them bodies in bags
They be cuttin' them bodies on slabs
Then go to somebody and brag
Got to keep a straight face
Better keep inside with your know
Got to find a safe place
Better stay in silence or go
Or end up a waste case
Pick figure it's more stuff to do
Pick nigger it's more folks than you
Pick never come close to a clue
I put my life on it
Want to disrespect give me your neck
And I'll put a knife on it
Some say it's slippery when wet
But my Roll got ice on it
It's all about supply and demand
It's all about me buying some land
You folks just don't understand
That uh

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]
Man, I see the clouds coming
Y'all see a man on the moon walking
I see a crowd running
and the APD steadily talking
'Cause we done found something
And it's not as good as it seems
Oh I wish I could get some cream
And get up out of the hood with some dreams
I'm peepin' hard crimes
See the system's f*cked up
And they givin' out some hard times
Heard one of these ???
And my people snortin' hard lines
Locked up and they didn't do a thang
Locked up because of the pressure and pain
Locked up because they wouldn't do the same
And I see the case close
I can't ask no questions, and it's over
'Cause they say so
I ain't learned no lessons, but these snitches
Better lay low
Or we gonna be chopping some heads
And we gonna be rocking some beds
And we gonna be dropping some eggs
We walk a long road
Trying to find the essence of self
But I picked the wrong clothes
'Do rag with a gat under my belt
'Cause life's throwing strong blows
But I keep a little hope and some dreams
And I try to stay focused and clean
But I got a little dope and some green
'Cause uh

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
I can see them shamed faces
Man, y'all look at me like y'all grew up
In the same places
Scams and dirty work came up on
A day to day basis
Now they got to re-up and re-bag
And they got to re-up and re-slab
Then they got to be up and be bad
This game'll NEVER end
Excuse my French, but Goddammit
I got some clever friends
They might get set back by some wench
But that bitch'll never win
It's all about the way of the world
It's all about the way of them girls
It's all about them diamonds and pearls
We waiting too long
But the DEC and Southwest Atlanta
Is too strong
We might bring that soap out and wash up
And throw them suits on
Coming in the court with some pride
'Cause we ain't got nothing to hide
Just didn't know what laws to abide
I play the cards dealt
And I bought a full house and I watched
The woman's heart melt
See my mama's cooled out and she's crying
'Cause it's heart-felt
It's all about supply and demand
It's all about me buying some land
You folks just don't understand
That uh

[Chorus to fade]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER BRIDGES, CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES, TORREY COOKE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




Block Lockdown

(feat. Funkmaster Flex)

[Funkmaster Flex]
Yeah Dirty South baby - Ludacris
Shout to Shaka Zulu, my man Shawn Taylor
.. it's goin down

[DTP]
Yeah, Funk Flex, Volume Fo'
Disturbin The Peace, Def Jam South
'Cris (yeah) you ready?

[Ludacris]
Oh it's my turn? Aiight..
I got permission to put ya mamma in a headlock (what?)
She tried to jook me in a figure-fo' leg lock (ohh)
She said she like the way I stick and make the bed rock
or how I lick and leave her twisted like a dreadlock, and it's on
So stop the sweatin like a wristband
And get some balance like a bike without the kickstand
I think I changed the definition of a hit man
Cuz I could really give a f*ck about that bitch man, c'mon!
We puttin holes in your residence
And lose anybody for the right president
We thugged out street niggaz with intelligence
So all that bullshit you yappin is irrelevant
Oh yeah, I represent the Dirty Southside
I'm a dentist makin women open they mouth wide
You be in jail still runnin it on the outside
Thank not then won't ya open up ya mouth riiiight, but who cares?

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
I got my corner on lockdown
About to hold this whole block down
Ludacris tell um how the South sound
UUH BUDDAH-LAA AH, UH UH UH BUDDAH-LAA
UHH BUDDAH-LAA AH uh oh uh oh uh oh

[Verse 2]
Comin to Shady Park is like a peep show
It's some respectable ladies and there some freak hoes
I know killers that go to church up in they street clothes
You'll end up missin more than Shaq when shootin free throws
They packin and bout to open up the dope spot
My neighborhood is stoppin cars like a roadblock
They movin' weight like Atlanta was movin boat rock
And catchin ums like seeun Muslims eatin pork chops - never happen
And meanwhile I been thinkin man
Niggaz been slangin tapes like they slangin 'caine
Cuz in the hood its gettin ugly like orangutang
So if you tryin to stop the hustle get the dangalang
Okay, we tryin to make our own White House
Paint it black and start yellin our f*ckin pipes out
You try to tackle some players and you'll get psyched out
They can't f*ck with us niggaz you think they dyked out, so don't play

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
Disturbin The Peace, we do that funky shit
Hey, what can I say? We got a monkey clique
See Dre'll throw on them shades, and make that funky shit
And keep y'all women away if they got funky clit
Understand, we got that dough and it get rolled up
You pay the price and still we got the block sold up
Aint nothin nice a full house don't make you fold up
You full of heist and try to jet and I'm like -
hold up, god damn - I need to say it on a megaphone
And tell your sister get the f*ck up off the telephone
These fools is tickin me off like fifty metronome
I'm takin all of ya money just call me Pebbletone!
Alright? I got the pistol and the safe key
You betta tell your bitch to follow you to safety
How dare you wanna be heroes and chase me
It's Ludacris wont leave no evidence to trace me, you know why?

[Chorus]

Funky shit oh
Do that funky shit oh
Do that funky shit oh
Do that funky shit oh
Do that funky shit uh
Do that funky shit uh
Do that funky shit




[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER BRIDGES, CHRISTOPHER BRIAN BRIDGES, SHONDRAE CRAWFORD, SHONDRAE L CRAWFORD
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




Welcome To Atlanta

Yeah
Welcome to Atlanta, jackin' hammers and vogues
Back to the mackin' and jackin' the clothes, adolescent packin' a four
A knock on the door, who is it? I would happen to know
The one with the flow, who did it?, It was me I suppose
JD in the Rolls and Luda's in the Cut Supreme
Skatin' down Old Nat, gat tucked and leaned
I split your spleen, as a matter of fact I split your team
No blood on the sneaks, gotta keep it so my kicks is clean
I get the cream, cops see me flick my beams
I'm allergic so doc prescribed antihistamines
Oink oink, pig pig, do away with the pork
Only silverware I needs a steak knife and a fork
Did you forget your f*ckin manners? I'm Bruce with Banners
Ludacris, Johnny Rockets when I shoot the cannons
The Wooly Mammoth Sabretooth, bitch bite your tongue
I won't stop until I'm rich as them whites'll come
I pulled up in the black Lotus, your plaques are bogus
So I stripped them off the wall
Waitin' for my cue to corner pocket eight balls
You rackin 'em up
I'm big paper like pancakes, stackin' 'em up
In fact I'm slappin 'em up, Cadallac'n the truck
I can't loose with twenty-two, bitch that's what's up
Runnin' in the back to f*ck, better tha-than the aquaduct
Chil-li-li-li-lin', fli-pi-pi-pi-pi-n, what?

Yo, yo, yo, yo
Y-y-yo yo, yo-yo-yo
Yo yo-yo-yo, yo-yo, yo
Y-yo, yo, yo-yo-yo-yo-yo yo

Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin'
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin'
Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin' (uh-huh)
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin' (yo, uh)

Now the party don't start 'til I walk in
And I usually don't leave until the thang ends (uh)
But in the meantime, in between time
You work yo' thing, I'll work mine
I been puttin' it down here since '83
Since the Lakeshore-MD rivalry
When Frozen Paradise was the place to be
If you was ridin', you was bumping to homie Shy-D
I'm the M.B.P., Most Ballin-ist Player (uh-huh)
Make my own rules, bitch call me the mayor
Monday night, Gentlemen's Club
Tuesday night, I'm up in the Velvet Room, gettin' f*cked up
Wednesday, I'm at Strokers on lean
Thursday, Jump Clean, then I fall up in Kream
Friday, Shark Bar, Kaya with Frank Ski
Right on the floor is where you can find me
Saturday, is off the heezy for sheezy
You can find me up in One-Tweezy
Sunday, is when I get my sleep in
'Cause on Monday we be at it again, holla

Yo, yo, y-y-yo, yo, yo
Y-y-yo yo, yo-yo-yo
Yo yo-yo-yo, yo-yo, yo
Y-yo, yo, yo-yo-yo-yo-yo yo

Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin'
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin'
Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin'
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin'
Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin'
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin'
Welcome to Atlanta, where the players play
And we ride on them thangs like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsters roamin'
And parties don't stop 'til eight in the mornin'
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Brian Bridges, Jermaine Dupri, James Hutchins, Tohri Murphy Lee Harper, Frederick J. Perren, Lawrence Smith, Christine Yarian Perren
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC




Back to: Ludacris


Word of Mouf is the third studio album by American rapper Ludacris. It was released through Disturbing tha Peace and Def Jam South on November 27, 2001. It contains four singles: "Rollout (My Business)", "Area Codes", "Move Bitch", and "Saturday (Oooh! Ooooh!)".
Performed By: Ludacris
Genre(s): Hip hop, southern hip hop, dirty rap
Length: 78:52
Released: November 27th, 2001
Year: 2001

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