Ludacris, Pusha T, Swizz Beatz - Tell Me What They Mad For lyrics
[Ludacris, Pusha T, Swizz Beatz - Tell Me What They Mad For lyrics]
Come around the hood
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
If you sellin' all the records and
You fuckin' all the bitches
And you sit a top of the charts
And you livin' out your wishes
With your chains all smothered and
Your watches all glittered
And your ghost and your phantoms
All comin' home to visit
Or maybe cause your bitches was
Never really your bitches
With your baby mama fucking every
Rapper in the business
Niggas saying you was better when the
Drugs was in your system
Now your crack swag gone ever
Since you came from prison
Got you tweeting all stupid, is you skatin'
Is you dissin'
Found out your Ghost leased and
Your Phantom just rented
Won’t need it in your name like
Pac when he went missing
Makaveli lives on so I’m
Riding on you bitches
Hail Mary be the witness
Lord Willin' I was dealing
Stupid motherfucking five star
Tatted on his ceiling
Bullseye, be the motherfucking target
For this killing
Ain't y'all the motherfuckers
With the millions?
Come around the hood
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Is it cause I got houses on every coast
Or that I'm on that Forbes list
Making rich rappers look broke
While they blowing that smoke I'm
Blowing a couple millions
Making a killing stunting on imposters
Only rapper in the game with
A grammy and a Oscar
Seven figure movie deals
Eight figure bank runs
And I'm still feeding the same
Hood that I came from
Any car that you got I've already drove
Any chick that you hit, my nigga
I've already hoed say it with your chest
Like these diamonds in my charm
Name on my headphones, label tatted on my arm
Air traffic control say Ludacris is insane
That nigga daugher's birthday is the
Tail number on his plane
Fuck with me, but nobody fucking with me
Taking a shot of my Cognac
More millions, real G's chugging with me
If I'm happy there's no reason
You should be sad for
So if somebody, can somebody please
Come around the hood
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
If you sellin' all the records and
You fuckin' all the bitches
And you sit a top of the charts
And you livin' out your wishes
With your chains all smothered and
Your watches all glittered
And your ghost and your phantoms
All comin' home to visit
Or maybe cause your bitches was
Never really your bitches
With your baby mama fucking every
Rapper in the business
Niggas saying you was better when the
Drugs was in your system
Now your crack swag gone ever
Since you came from prison
Got you tweeting all stupid, is you skatin'
Is you dissin'
Found out your Ghost leased and
Your Phantom just rented
Won’t need it in your name like
Pac when he went missing
Makaveli lives on so I’m
Riding on you bitches
Hail Mary be the witness
Lord Willin' I was dealing
Stupid motherfucking five star
Tatted on his ceiling
Bullseye, be the motherfucking target
For this killing
Ain't y'all the motherfuckers
With the millions?
Come around the hood
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Is it cause I got houses on every coast
Or that I'm on that Forbes list
Making rich rappers look broke
While they blowing that smoke I'm
Blowing a couple millions
Making a killing stunting on imposters
Only rapper in the game with
A grammy and a Oscar
Seven figure movie deals
Eight figure bank runs
And I'm still feeding the same
Hood that I came from
Any car that you got I've already drove
Any chick that you hit, my nigga
I've already hoed say it with your chest
Like these diamonds in my charm
Name on my headphones, label tatted on my arm
Air traffic control say Ludacris is insane
That nigga daugher's birthday is the
Tail number on his plane
Fuck with me, but nobody fucking with me
Taking a shot of my Cognac
More millions, real G's chugging with me
If I'm happy there's no reason
You should be sad for
So if somebody, can somebody please
Come around the hood
See sittin' here lookin' good
Tell me what they mad for
You should be on the radio
Soundin' like I made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for
Girl tell me what they mad for
Tell me what they mad for