paroles de chanson U Got a Problem? - Ludacris

Yeah, come see this nigga
Come see this ol' light-skinned motherfucker
I seen him and I'm addicted
Disturbing tha Peace is the clique
Please tell these fake-ass niggas who you are
I be that nigga named Luda
Alert! Alert! it's the ATLien intruder
College Park Waterboy, spit in the c-cooler
I Jam till they Def, they call me Slick Dick the Ruler
Women, indeed! Keep yo' eyes closed
'Bow blows, come on out them clothes, hoes
Low-pros, low blows, watch out for the po-pos
And I chose to be that number-one contender
Southern offender, fucking up your whole agenda
When I walk, you try to run; when I run, you try to hide
You skate at the snap of my fingers; call me Golden Glide
It's you and I, do or die, who am I?
I got a pocket full of family stones, cats think I'm Sly
Oh, why try? You one of them niggas that like to cheat death
And I'm one of them niggas
That rip out Excursions till there's no seats left
You shit out wheat Chex, and fart out deep breaths
While we toss darts at the bottom of y'all V-necks
Who, that nigga 'Cris?
Aww, that nigga's aight
That nigga can't fuck with me, though!
Let me get on the mic
Nigga, who the fuck are you, nigga?
I be that nigga Bronze Bridges
Players wanna ball but go on strike 'cause of my pitches
They think I want they bitches
But I don't want no pigeons; yeah, pigeons can scrub my dishes
And y'all don't want no scrubs till y'all pull out y'all extensions
Y'all in school detention and'll never come out
Man, I'll cut your Achilles tendon and put a sock in your mouth
'Cause we the shit in the South, Fate know what I'm talking about
You see we Jack and we Daniel, y'all Earl and Ralph
4-Ize, twirl it out, lick it dry and tend it to flames
Not even Joshua can come to war with these games
These bitch niggas is lame and comin' down with the rain
You all wet behind the ears but it's a drought in your brain
And that's the simple and plain mayne, three-W dot, sh-
"Man, that dude Luder's got some hotter-than-hot sh-"
Well sh-sh-sh-shut the fuck up
Before you get cu-cu-cut-cut the fuck up
Hold on man, hold on, lil buddy
Y'all talkin' 'bout shorty, man?
Shorty up at the radio station, man?
Shorty be popping, man!
I'm saying, let the name be known!
Who y'all talkin' 'bout?
I be that nigga the Lova-Lova
I'm nastier than thinking about your parents sex each other
No glove, no love; better tell your dick to run for cover
So when lightning strikes, you'll be safe on a few rubbers
If you know what I mean!
Not everybody's Mr. and Mrs. Clean
Some get burnt like Freddy Krueger, sweet dreams
Girls "Backin' they ass up," now they 400 Degreez, ha
Hot girl, trying to give it to niggas up on the block, girl
Have you screaming, "Stop, girl!"
I rock worlds with my nine-inch Louisville slugger
Still wonder why they call me Lova-Lova?
Self-explanator-ium, ass valedictorian
I bring 'em Back to the Future like a '85 DeLorean
The Luda drug emporium; on the counter prescriptions
You like my diction and my doctor nurse convention
I place the stethoscope quite close to your titty
And have your buttcheeks red, man, like Uncle Quilly
See me! See me!
CEO, D.T.P
Infamous 2-0, Fate Forrester
4-Eezy
Shondreezy on da beat
Playaz Circle,Tity Boi
College Park, nigga! Virgo, nigga! What-what!
Ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah