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lirik lagu cry babies (oh no) – ludacris

(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 frostin’ like a flake and ludacris feels great
who want come face me, face come want who?
and women give me face until they’re face turns blue
they can’t breathe, d-ck to mouth resuscitation
a tight squeeze witch stops the length to 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 -ss 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 overp-ss 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

you see i’m ambidextrous i slap -ss 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 n-gg-s that’s more chicken then pot pies
bok bok bok i’m shakin’ your tale feathers
i got big b-lls, i’m a sac king like chris webber
luda’ will take you back to duck hunt and double dribble

when n-gg-s 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 m-th-f-cka now)
could it be off with his head?
(or shoot a m-th-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

i kick n-gg-s in they’re -ss 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 -ss
where mr. head-potatoes are skinned they get mashed
i smell p-ss 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, mackin’ some broads and stickin’ ’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 -ss 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

(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

- ludacris

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