(feat. Floyd Mayweather)
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[Floyd Mayweather speaks]
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[Ludacris:]
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Back up on dat ass,
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Back to put rappers on one knee like they bout to run 100 meter dash,
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Bow down to greatness, before I get pissed and run up in the stands like the Indiana Pacers,
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Covered all my bases, straight, no chasers,
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Diamonds on my chain look like my neck's full of glacers,
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Titanic flow, Titanic dough, women on my nuts like "Where da Titanic go?"
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I been scourin' da earth, makin' my fans catch da holy ghost at my shows like ya grandma at church,
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And the fat lady singin', it's ova for you rappers,
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Can't none of ya'll bust your just sacs full of semen,
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And I got da women screamin', and they could catch my balls on any given sunday like my name's Willy Beaman,
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Or LL Cool, so if ya boyfriend thinks your loyal to his ass then he's a motherfuckin fool,
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Got jewels on my pinky, jewels on my wrist
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Iconic status and his name is Ludacris,
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Bitch please, you messin with some real O.G's,
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With million dolla whips dat I ship from overseas,
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Got a pocket full of G'z, and the inconvenient truth is that the ozone is back cause I been smokin' all da trees,
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The globe is warmin' up when we fire up the blunt,
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And put it in the air like Evil Knievel stunts,
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Wat you want from me? I got pistols for da haters,
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Ya fam will be in black like the playin' for da Raiders,
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And ya music isn't favored, and DJ's they neva bring it back like when you go and borrow somethin' from ya neighbor,
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Like a cup full of sugar, a rope full of salt,
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The name of my car insurance is YO fuckIN FAULT,
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And if you sittin on chrome, I'll call up my boys and have you stripped of ya medals like Marion Jones, nigga...
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[Floyd Mayweather speaks]
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[Ludacris:]
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Back up on da scene, back to put a nail in these rappers' coffins I got the hammer in my jeans,
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Call me Mr.Fixit, barrel hotter than a fresh batch of home-made buttermilk biscuits,
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A-tisket, a-tasket, a custom-made casket,
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Luda leaves them trouters stretched out like gymnastics,
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And acrobatics I'm superstar status, the mouth of the South like gangsta grillz you bastard,
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The international traveler, and I may not be much to you but I'm the sh*t out in Africa,
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So put ya fist up, even the statue of liberty lit a flame for the way that I lit my wrist up,
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You can't compete with me, I got 'em stuck like I made a thousand rappers put shackles on they feet with me,
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And then I broke free, I'll let 'em loose when Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston become drug-free,
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I'm the baddest mother shut it like Shaft was, leavin' rappers with headaches like bad drugs,
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They shoulda warned ya, you got defeated by the heat but, eh, we'll just say we Alonzo Mourn'd ya,
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So Cater coroner, I'll show up to yo funeral with some gators like I'm fresh outta Florida,
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Call me the swamp thing, ya'll headed in the wrong direction like you hit the subway and caught the wrong train,
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So don't f**k with it, I'm sendin' lyrical bullets right at ya dome f**k niggaz betta duck with it,
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Or else you stuck with it,
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You'll get stalked so bad you'll leava da scene thinkin eight Young Buck's did it,
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But not in Cashville, you lost yo feelin' like comin down off X chasin' effects of yo last pill,
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You fuckin Daffy Dill, You's a Daffy Duck,
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And I'm the undefeated champ, ya'll niggas suck!
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-----------------
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Undisputed
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Ludacris |