Lyrics:
a rhyme like Ludacris
Later we takin' it down to the floor. Bumpin' and grindin' and beggin' for more
Doin' it nastier than Jersey Shore, baby by morning
broke off like a KitKat
Don't make me la laugh
Y'all are wha whack
I'm running zig zags stacking big bags like it's wichcraft
Y'all actin Ludacris, better
that I love don't even talk to me
She thinks it better this way so I give her the space she needs
She tells me to stop so I beg and plea
Losing my self
Used to slang all these birdies by the flock
I don't buy a watch without no rocks
Look at my wrist bust down on the spot
If you talk with the cops
P. Diddy:
What's going on?
Jermaine Durpi:
Tell me
P. Diddy:
People dying
Jermaine Dupri:
Yeah
P. Diddy:
People crying
Jermaine Dupri:
Uh-huh
isn't a shortening of recourses', and that it's just a matter of distribution.
P: Ah Jimmier, thats only liberal, pc talk. Theyre talking socialism.
Then they bagged him in the cab and brought him back to the spot
Found six p's of piffy a little under fifty
That little bit of bread make
Fellas: Is there any room in your pants, I want to make love tonight
P-Dub: And ladies if you're willing to go down let it go down
Ladies: So grab me by
who ain't TRU laugh at old shoot
About face, salute!
Tell I'ma soldier, by the way I talk
Tell I'ma soldier, by the way I march (Right, left, left)
Aye
They don't talk like me
Ayy, nigga, fuck a M-V-P, I'm the M-V-ME
I live my life like Calboy, why they envy me
Stay with the presidents on me
P Diddy:
What's Going On
Jermaine Dupri:
Tell Me
P Diddy:
People Dying
People Crying
Lord help us
Bono:
Mother, mother
There's too many of you
P Diddy:
What's Going On
Jermaine Dupri:
Tell Me
P Diddy:
People Dying
People Crying
Lord help us
Bono:
Mother, mother
There's too many of you
P Diddy:
What's going on
Jermaine Dupri:
Tell me
P Diddy:
People dying, people crying, Lord help us
Bono:
Mother, mother, there's too many of you
P Diddy:
What's Going On
Jermaine Dupri:
Tell Me
P Diddy:
People Dying
People Crying
Lord help us
Bono:
Mother, mother
There's too many of you
And nigga P said he wanted inspiration
(Damn P)
I was really more on some "fuck the word" shit so let's see
(Fuck these niggas man, real talk)
I'm
the G Code, embedded in my blood
We don't talk to police, we don't make a peace bond
We ain't trustin' in the judicial system, we shoot guns
We rely
deuce up the score, bitch that's for gangnem
We don't do no drive-bys, hop out, switchy on me, change 'em
R.I.P. Jmoney, nigga, I can't fuck the same
Hmm mm Money matta
Wey make my body scatta
Chat them chat omu p3 casa
Stack bands it no be yawa
Hmm mm Money matta
Wey make my body scatta
Chat them
dollars, P’s
Get bag by any means
imma talk in guapanese
to all my G’s
then stack my Gs
If I’m gonna be honest,
your car it will never be foreign
Imma spend
didn't know
Representing getting low, P nigga hit the floor
Verse 2 (Master P)
Sideways through the cut with the gold one's spinning
Suckers
bury me in the Bury
You know that this the side
It's Holly love
I'm by the hive in the midnight
Free Sina
He the man man
Can't Get Right
R.i.P Rash
collection
I make music that electrify 'em, you make music that pacify 'em
I can double down on that line, but spare you this time, that's random acts
anybody
And me funny about the cheddar more money affi make by the hour
Dawg we always pon the block and all the girls wanna gas you
You Dre pon the field
on a daily o
Sister no fit fuck with any brother wey dey hungry o
She say don't play with my money o
If I give you chop, make you no talk my p for radio
She no
.jpg/204px-Ludacris_2008_(cropped).jpg "Ludacris")
Discuss these make the p talk by ludacris Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In