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    Word of Mouf
    Ouvir álbum completo Word of Mouf Ano de lançamento: 2001
    1. Coming 2 America
    2. Rollout ( My Business)
    3. Go 2 Sleep
    4. Cry Babies ( Oh No)
    5. She Said
    6. Howhere ( Skit)
    7. Area Codes
    8. Growing Pains
    9. Greatest Hits ( Skit)
    10. Move B
    11. Stop Lying
    12. Saturday ( Oooh Ooooh!)
    13. Keep It On The
    14. Word Pf Mouf
    15. Get The F
    16. Freaky Thangs
    17. Cold Outside
    18. Bonus Track : Bloock Lockdown

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    Ver discografia completa »
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    The royal penis is clean your highness
    Thank you, king shit

    Yeah motherfuckers! Welcome to the United States of America.
    Time to roll out the red carpet on y'all bitch asses.
    Hailin from the filthy, dirty South, where the Kings lay.
    Ludacris; Disturbin' Tha Peace family. Recognize royalty
    when you hear it. The throne has been taken, so kiss this
    nigga's earring. Luda throw some grapes on these bitches!

    [Ludacris]
    These bitches throwin rose petals at my feet mayn!
    They wanna spoil me, treatin me like royalty;
    what I'm 'sposed to do? It's such a sweet thang
    Work that track, whip 'em like Kunta
    That's why they stay down, they loyal citizens of Zamunda
    By way of A-T-L; if you disagree
    don't even look at me ho don't pass go just go straight to jail
    With no probation or bail, but this ain't Monopoly
    It's Jolly Green Giants cause we smoke so much broccoli
    Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O's! Luda's oodles of noodles
    And testin me is like pitbulls put up to poodles
    My rap career goes back further than yo' father hairline
    It's Ludacris - I pack more nuts than Delta Airlines
    I'm fly, even when I get high I work cash
    And even got my coats bumped up to first class
    I'm boss to all employees - and I'm here to teach the principle
    Cause I've been saved by mo' bells than Lark Vorhees

    Man fuck that nigga 'Cris man, for real man. I'm tired of
    this shit man. Man I try to rap for the nigga, I try to get
    a nigga tracks; he ain't hearin my shit. Man for real.
    Man my four-year-old son can rap better than that nigga;
    man that nigga garbage. Man I got talent too, the nigga ain't
    hearin me. Man iii-iiiis this shit on? 'Cris, c'mon 'Cris.
    'Cris, f'real man. FUCK YOU NIGGA, MAN FUCK YOU!

    [Ludacris]
    Fuck you too! What you wanna do, scrawny nigga
    But I got a arsenal of automatics down to twenty-twos
    Know how to use 'em, fight dirty as SHIT
    I throw a grenade and all-in-one bury a CLIQUE
    You see y'all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos
    And comin up shorter than five Danny DeVitos
    I'm on a cool ranch, get laid more than Fritos
    With five strippers, four wives and three amigos
    I go scuba divin in Bays at Montego
    I find gold links and snatch 'em like I'm Deebo
    But I'm the light-skinteted version of Mandingo
    I've seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo
    I used to run numbers in line they caled me BINGO
    Cause I'm big, you a little star, you just twinkle
    Old asses like sharpeis, y'all all wrinkled
    And I stay with more BULLETS than yo' Billboard singles

    Ho that is just too much! You just gotta give applause
    he is definitely all f'real - yaseeI'msayin? Ha ha I be
    fuckin with him all the time, yahhmean? I'm sayin, I used
    to just (?) now home come through he want filters a purple,
    he want quarters a purple now. I want y'all to trip with it
    man, I woulda sold him a Coupe (?) we coulda played with,
    yaseewhatI'msayin?

    [Ludacris]
    Yeah, can I get a little hit of that, little nigga with a bigga sack
    See piece of the bigger trap look at that God be rollin on that
    Where they kick it at? And a lot of people just don't know
    Shady Park you heard just don't go
    Quick to flip the bird up po'-po'
    Makin the way for that rodeo, that rodeo show!
    Gotta hit 'em with a reload, I gotta put 'em with the people
    I gotta make a nigga stop, drop, roll - oh no where the beat go?
    Bring that, shit back, didn't wanna hear that, clik-clak
    Tons of fun with guns
    Fuck all the lil' chit-chat get back get that get that
    Who knows, who goes there? Motherfuckers it's Poppa Bear
    Stop and stare; pourin out a lil' gasoline and then drop a flare
    Come on, FIRE! And you know I can't stop 'til I re-TIRE!
    Oh no, we stay swoll, rollin on Vogue TIRES!
    Right down the avenue, passin you rapidly stackin
    In the back of the Cadillac and packin emergency action
    Camera, LIGHT LIGHTS, throwin a punch and then FIGHT FIGHT
    Packin a lunch and then BITE BITE, A-T-L stay TIGHT TIGHT

    I'm just tryin to save ya shorty. I'ma let you know
    it's real down heah. When you ride down that two-eighty-five,
    and you go past Kincaid, get ready to go past that Cambleton Road
    fo' you get it cut free shorty just shave; cause dat where dem
    real niggaz at. I ain't lyin when you in Decatur and you flossin
    down Clintwood, Cambleton Road or (?) Boulder to shave!
    Cause dat where dem real niggaz at. When you're goin down that
    ol' Nat Hill and you pass dat second waffle house 'fore you get
    to the rich niggaz daaang, cause dat where dem real niggaz at!
    Matter of fact, just shave when ya get to Georgia nigga.

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