• Artist: Ludacris
• Song Title: Cry Babies (Oh No)
• Album: Word Of Mouf

[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 F**K 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, d*** 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 f**k patients
When I kick and rip and flip an indespensable rhyme
My black a** 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 Two: Ludacris]
You see I'm ambidextrous I slap a** 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 n****s 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 n****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 servey says? (Kill a mutha f**ka now)
Could it be off with his head? (Or shoot a mutha f**ka down)
Ground round, ground chuck your ground beef
Bullets gather round then I shoot rounds around teeth

[Chorus]

[Verse Three: Ludacris]
I kick n****s in they're a** 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 a**"
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 maggots in 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 a** 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]