Letra Cry babies oh no de Ludacris

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[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 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


[Verse Two: Ludacris]
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


[Verse Three: Ludacris]
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 - 2X]