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Ludacris » Cry Babies (Oh No)
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	(Chorus x2:) (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 1:) I got people scared as FUCK 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 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 blue They can't breathe, dick to mouth recessatation A tight squeeze witch stops the length to conversations I Playstations, duck cops and lose agents I'm Doctor Love, I close curtains and fuck patients When I kick and rip and flip an indespensable 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 (chorus) (Verse 2:) 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 perfect 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' will 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 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 beef Bullets gather round then I shoot rounds around teeth (chorus) (Verse 3:) I kick niggas in they're 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 out 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 spinnin' the green I re-up with more chips than a vending machine Then you can catch me in Rome making some brauds and sticking 'em And you'll be at home picking your bougars and flicking 'em A drug dealer's dream, so fresh and I'm so clean I'm a grown ass man and you're sweeter than sixteen So go and kick rocks peons you're just rookies Headed down stairs to get you some milk and cookies (chorus x2)
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