| The royal penis is clean your highness | 
| Thank you, king shit | 
| -- Yeah motherfuckers! | 
| Welcome to the United States of America. | 
| Time to roll out the red carpet on y’all bitch asses. | 
| Hailin from the filthy, dirty South, where the Kings lay. | 
| Ludacris; | 
| Disturbin’Tha Peace family. | 
| Recognize royalty | 
| when you hear it. | 
| The throne has been taken, so kiss this | 
| nigga’s earring. | 
| Luda throw some grapes on these bitches! | 
| These bitches throwin rose petals at my feet mayn! | 
| They wanna spoil me, treatin me like royalty; | 
| what I’m 'sposed to do? | 
| It’s such a sweet thang | 
| Work that track, whip 'em like Kunta | 
| That’s why they stay down, they loyal citizens of Zamunda | 
| By way of A-T-L; | 
| if you disagree | 
| don’t even look at me ho don’t pass go just go straight to jail | 
| With no probation or bail, but this ain’t Monopoly | 
| It’s Jolly Green Giants cause we smoke so much broccoli | 
| Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O's! | 
| Luda’s oodles of noodles | 
| And testin me is like pitbulls put up to poodles | 
| My rap career goes back further than yo’father hairline | 
| It’s Ludacris — I pack more nuts than Delta Airlines | 
| I’m fly, even when I get high I work cash | 
| And even got my coach bumped up to first class | 
| I’m boss to all employees — and I’m here to teach the principle | 
| Cause I’ve been saved by mo’bells than Lark Vorhees | 
| -- Man fuck that nigga 'Cris man, for real man. | 
| I’m tired of this shit man. | 
| Man I try to rap for the nigga, I try to get | 
| a nigga tracks; | 
| he ain’t hearin my shit. | 
| Man for real. | 
| Man my four-year-old son can rap better than that nigga; | 
| man that nigga garbage. | 
| Man I got talent too, the nigga ain’t | 
| hearin me. | 
| Man iii-iiiis this shit on? | 
| 'Cris, c’mon 'Cris. | 
| 'Cris, f’real man. | 
| FUCK YOU NIGGA, MAN FUCK YOU! | 
| Fuck you too! | 
| What you wanna do, scrawny nigga | 
| But I got a arsenal of automatics down to twenty-twos | 
| Know how to use 'em, fight dirty as SHIT | 
| I throw a grenade and all-in-one bury a CLIQUE | 
| You see y’all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos | 
| And comin up shorter than five Danny DeVitos | 
| I’m on a cool ranch, get laid more than Fritos | 
| With five strippers, four wives and three amigos | 
| I go scuba divin in Bays at Montego | 
| I find gold links and snatch 'em like I’m Deebo | 
| But I’m the light-skinteted version of Mandingo | 
| I’ve seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo | 
| I used to run numbers in line they caled me BINGO | 
| Cause I’m big, you a little star, you just twinkle | 
| Old asses like sharpeis, y’all all wrinkled | 
| And I stay with more BULLETS than yo’Billboard singles | 
| -- Ho that is just too much! | 
| You just gotta give applause | 
| he is definitely all f’real — yaseeI’msayin? | 
| Ha ha I be fuckin with him all the time, yahhmean? | 
| I’m sayin, I used | 
| to just serve homes herb now how come through he want 50's a purple, | 
| he want quarters a purple now. | 
| I want y’all to trip with it man, I woulda sold him a QP last week of the lava, yaseewhatImsayin? | 
| Yeah, can I get a little hit of that, little nigga with a bigga sack | 
| C.P. | 
| set a bigger trap look at that Godby Road and Old Nat | 
| Where they kick it at? | 
| And a lot of people just don’t know | 
| Shady Park you heard just don’t go Quick to flip the bird up po'-po' | 
| Makin the way for that rodeo, that rodeo show! | 
| Gotta hit 'em with a reload, I gotta put 'em with the people | 
| I gotta make a nigga stop, drop, roll — oh no where the beat go? | 
| Bring that, shit back, didn’t wanna hear that, clik-clak | 
| Tons of fun with guns | 
| Fuck all the lil’chit-chat get back get that get that | 
| Who knows, who goes there? | 
| Motherfuckers it’s Poppa Bear | 
| Stop and stare; | 
| pourin out a lil’gasoline and then drop a flare | 
| I’m on, FIRE! | 
| And you know I can’t stop 'til I re-TIRE! | 
| Oh no, we stay swoll, rollin on Vogue TIRES! | 
| Right down the avenue, passin you rapidly stackin | 
| In the back of the Cadillac and packin emergency action | 
| Camera, LIGHT LIGHTS, throwin a punch and then FIGHT FIGHT | 
| Packin a lunch and then BITE BITE, A-T-L stay TIGHT TIGHT | 
| -- I’m just tryin to save ya shorty. | 
| I’ma let you know | 
| it’s real down heah. | 
| When you ride down that two-eighty-five, | 
| and you go past Cascade, get ready to go past that Campbellton Road | 
| fo’you get it to Camp Creek shorty just shake; | 
| cause dat where dem | 
| real niggaz at. | 
| I ain’t lyin when you in Decatur and you flossin | 
| down Glenwood, Candler Road or Rainbow nigga shaaaaaake! | 
| Cause dat where dem real niggaz at. | 
| When you’re goin down that | 
| ol’Nat Hill and you pass dat second waffle house 'fore you get | 
| to the rich niggaz shaaake; | 
| cause dat where dem real niggaz at! | 
| Matter of fact, just shaje when ya get to Georgia nigga. |