Ludacris - U Got a Problem? lyrics

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 'til 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 'til
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 'til
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, shhhh
Man, that dude Luder's got
Some hotter-than-hot shhh
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 talmbout?

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 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-explanitor-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! Ha ha haha
CEO, DTP infamous 2-0, Fate Forrester
4-Eezy shondreezy on da beat
Playaz Circle, Tity Boi
College Park, nigga! Virgo, nigga! What-what!
Ahh, ahh ahh, ahh ahh, ahh ahh, ahh