Ludacris Follow

Cry Babies (Oh No)

[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!

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]

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' 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]

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 mackin' 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]