Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Coming 2 America, artist - Ludacris. Album song Word Of Mouf, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Coming 2 America |
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. |