Ludacris - Mad fo (feat. Meek Mill, Chris Brown, Swizz Beatz, Push) | Текстове на песни Textove.com

Ludacris - Mad fo (feat. Meek Mill, Chris Brown, Swizz Beatz, Push)

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Swizz Beatz:
You know one thing I hate
It's when a person come up to me
Or I hear somebody say "it must be nice"
You know my answer that
Is "You must me a hater"
Tell me why you mad fo
Listen Luda we gotta keep it real boy
We gonna do it like this baby
Listen here you know what I'm saying

Swizz Beatz:
Tell me what they mad fo
Come around the hood
See us sitting there looking good
Tell me what they mad fo
Cause you be on the radio
Sounding like you made a million dollars
Tell me what they mad fo, hah?
Tell me what they mad fo
Tell me what they mad fo
Tell me what they mad fo

Ludacris:
Time to start putting grown-ass men on time out
Go to the corner and cry somewhere man
Old insecure ass nigga
Your heart pump Kool-Aid man
What you mad at me 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're blowing that smoke
I'm blowing a couple million
Making a killing stunting on impostors
Only rapper in the game with a Grammy and an Oscar
7-figure movie deals, 8 figure bank runs
And I'm still feeding the same hood that I came from
Any car that you got I've altready drove
Any chick that you hit, nigga I've already ho'd
Say it with your chest like these diamonds on my tongue
Name on my headphones, label tatted on my arm
Air traffic control say "Ludacris is insane"
That niggas daughter's birthday's the tail number on his plane
Fuck with me but nobody's fucking with me
Take in the sight of my cognac, more millions
Real G's chug it with me
If I'm happy there's no reason you should be sad for
So will somebody, can somebody please...

Meek Mill:
Ha! Is you niggas hating 'cause you mad
Or is you mad 'cause you hating?
Choose one, hater
Now if these niggas hating on me I'm a kill them dead
If I wasn't rapping I'd be probably be in the fifth
In the cell, getting mail, with a million dollar bail
But instead of counting blues, I'm a take this YSL
And this Gucci, and this Louis, Prada 'cause I'm hotter
I used to ball in Philly, with that nina and get dollars
I beefs up in my Bimmer, check aboard my collar
And when I check my bank account
I'm checking for them commas
I'm like all these niggas haters, all these bitches fucking
At 24 I went and bought a Ghost like it was nothing
At 25 I bought that Aston Martin, now we stunting
And you nigga still talking all this money shit you bluffing
You bluffing, you bluffing, I really think you bluffing
100, 000 dollars man them bottles we just crush 'em
Now tell me why you hating? You hating 'cause you mad?
Or is you mad because you hating, boy you sad

Chris Brown:
Ok, I see why you mad, I'm counting all this money
And I'm popping all these tags,
Hopping to it, Fucking bunnies
Real nigga, One hundred
You trying to do it, I done it
I spit sick on this rap shit
Make them sick to they stomach
I'm clean man, you hate
Mad 'cause I'm gonna keep it real with a real nigga
I got racks on racks, and a black Maybach
Call it black on black, cause I kill niggas
In the club all girls, no niggas don't talk to me
'Cause I ain't really trynna hear niggas
In the coupe it's the truth
And the roof go poof, vamoose
I can make it disappear nigga
See this the type of shit that I be saying
Just because I'm balling, that don't mean a nigga playing
Haters can blow me like a fan
Flyer than a bitch, I don't think I'm a ever land
But in the meantime, baby what's your plan
You can call me daddy but I can't be your man
Fiending like the addicts, when I pull it out they panic
Bitch I do damage, you gonna need an ambulance

Swizz Beatz:
Showtime
Put one hand in the air if you know somebody
That's mad at you right now for no reason
Riding around in my jeep
Bumping that 2pac
I'm walking around in my hood
Cocked back two glocks
98 in my status
I came back I'm the baddest
Christian's on my feet
I told you I'm the baddest
All the way in Paris
Don't talk you'll get embarrassed
My watch is fucking nice
Yeah you get embarrassed
500 on them racks,
Pulled out them stacks
Mix this chocolate crazy
Droptop Maybachs
My life is just Ludacris
Sucka you just new to this
430s pulling up
God damn we do this shit
Chickens and the waffles
Chilling in the villa
Bumping Ludaversal
Getting that scrilla

Pusha T:
Yuck! Hey Luda, you know why these haters mad fo right?
The truth shall set you free
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 that motherfucking target for this killing
Ain't y'all the motherfuckers with the millions?