|
Ludacris - Undisputed (Co-Starring Floyd Money Mayweather) |
|
Luda: Back up on dat ass , |
|
Back to put rappers on one knee like they bout to run 100 meter dash, |
|
Bow down to greatness, |
|
before i get pissed and run up in the stands like the Indiana Pacers, |
|
Covered all my bases, straight, no chasers, |
|
Diamonds on my chain look like my neck's full of glacers, |
|
Titanic flow, Titanic dough, |
|
women on my nuts like "Where da Titanic go?" |
|
I been scourin' da earth, |
|
makin' my fans catch da holy ghost at my shows like ya grandma at church, |
|
And the fat lady singin', it's ova for you rappers, |
|
Cant none of yall bust your just sacs full of semen, |
|
And I got da women screamin', |
|
and they could catch my balls on any given sunday like my name's Willy Beaman, |
|
Got jewels on my pinky, jewels on my wrist |
|
Iconic status and his name is Ludacris, |
|
Bitch please, you messin wit some real O.G's, |
|
Wit million dolla whips dat I ship from overseas, |
|
Got a pocket full of G'z, |
|
and the inconvenient truth is that the ozone is back cuz I been smokin' all da trees, |
|
The globe is warmin' up when we fire up the blunt, |
|
And put it in the air like Evil Knievel stunts, |
|
Wat you want from me? I got pistols for da haters, |
|
Ya fam will be in black like the playin' for da Raiders, |
|
And ya music isn't favored, |
|
and DJ's they neva bring it back like when you go and borrow somethin' from ya neighbor, |
|
Like a cup full of sugar, a rope full of salt, |
|
And if you sittin on chrome, |
|
I'll call up my boys and have you stripped of ya medals like Marion Jones, nigga ... |
|
Luda: Back up on da scene, |
|
back to put a nail in these rappers' coffins I got the hammer in my jeans, |
|
Call me Mr.Fixit, |
|
barrel hotter than a fresh batch of home-made buttermilk biscuits, |
|
A-tisket, a-tasket, a custom-made casket, |
|
Luda leaves intruders stretched out like gymnastics, |
|
And acrobatics I'm superstar status, |
|
the mouth of the South like gangsta grillz you bastard, |
|
The international traveler, |
|
and I may not be much to you but I'm the sh*t out in Africa, |
|
So put ya fist up, |
|
even the statue of liberty lit a flame for the way that I lit my wrist up, |
|
You can't compete wit me, |
|
I got 'em stuck like I made a thousand rappers put shackles on they feet wit me, |
|
And then I broke free, |
|
I'll let 'em loose when Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston become drug-free, |
|
I'm the baddest mother shut it like Shaft was, |
|
leavin' rappers wit headaches like bad drugs, |
|
They shoulda warned ya, |
|
you got defeated by the heat but,eh, we'll just say we Alonzo Mourn'd ya, |
|
So Cater coroner, |
|
I'll show up to yo funeral wit some gators like I'm fresh outta Florida, |
|
Call me the swamp thing, |
|
yall headed in the wrong direction like you hit the subway and caught the wrong train, |
|
Or else you stuck wit it, |
|
You'll get stalked so bad you'll leava da scene thinkin eight Young Buck's did it, |
|
But not in Cashville, |
|
you lost yo feelin' like comin down off X chasin' effects of yo last pill, |
|
And I'm the undefeated champ, yall niggas suck! |
