Ludacris - We Got - Текст песни

[Ludacris]
                      DTP we got them guns that go...

                    [I-20]
                      Yea I'm all about that pistol playa, cold blooded killa
                      Niggaz recognize my name, I dub the young dealer
                      You better tell ya man that with the gages I'm nice
                      Ill shoot up yall white shirts until yall look like dikes
                      But I'm through with all the talking time to show all you niggaz
                      I 2-0, I'm like J-Lo...going through niggaz
                      DTP we aint plying if you try to get our pen
                      A.K's get ta spraying like...
                      Bottom line that mean I'm bout it, any nigga want it, doubt it
                      Bust you in the broad day, on the street that's fully crowded
                      Find our hole and fagots there, just for thinking its rap
                      And tell that pretty bitch thug we got some pretty big gats
                      Chaka say I'm shot out, and I tend to agree
                      So you should what you saying if it's intended for me
                      So be careful what you starting, let my fingers do the walking
                      And that oozy get to talking like...

                    [Tity Boi]
                      Hammers, jam 'em, snatch 'em, grab 'em
                      Can the an and fuck 'em, damn 'em
                      Press him, man him, scared him, teared him, kneed him up
                      Bake him, take him, beat him up, I hate I hate, I eat him up
                      A-B-C-E-F shawty is you a G or what
                      Now it's just me and my nuts, that's all I got in this world
                      I'm pulling pistols out my stomach and throwing them bitches up like earl
                      Serving the club, head shot, scattered, covered, run, scram 'em
                      I'm 38, hot with a pearl handle...
                      And I'm throwing text like a NBA ref
                      I got, all gold guns like they came from I-RAQ
                      Artillery, could it be I got all kinds of these pistols
                      I point my gun at ya homeboy make ya own folks hit ya
                      And aint taking no more pictures, if you snap ima click
                      Anyway, plus I got bullets in the clip the size of Lil Fate
                      And I'm webbing choppers like heli-copters
                      You gon' need hella doctors, when the glok go...

                    [Chingy]
                      Say on the set bitch, better watch your lip that text be quick
                      20 over thurr, Tity over thurr, Luda over thurr, aint no exit trick
                      Us you don't mess with, we got them guns like action flicks
                      Reload with the next clip, I'm the ro nigga to flex with bitch
                      Come on and test this, my gun I'm having sex with shit
                      Put a bullet in (in) shoot it out, got them long horns like Texas bitch
                      Look at my necklace, maybe hit a ngga disrespect this click
                      My pistol grip sound like this...now what
                      Who want that they fucked, when I cock and load the cake, bust bust
                      Yall cowards play tough, and my peeps we come to spray stuff up
                      Yall lives made up, like ugly hoes with make-up bra
                      We'll suit you up then toss yo ass in the lake tough nut
                      I'm wrist rocky, like Sylvester Stallone
                      So thurr for you should invest, in a vest for ya dome
                      Cause I know you marks planning on getting me when I'm landing
                      Beast the nick, but my cannon go...

                    [Ludacris]
                      Fuck a medic, we gon' call yo ass a taxi cab
                      Bleedin so hard you'll need a life size maxi pad
                      So flip the script and tell your woman its your time on the month
                      A.K. 47 for the niggaz who's really looking for heaven and a 9 for you chumps
                      Got killaz in my squad and I'm the nicest one in my group
                      But I got bananas for you niggaz and I aint talking bout fruit
                      Ill pay your CAB BACK with the BLACK MACK
                      Till your BACK CRACK, got the GAT BACK like...CLAK CLAK CLAK
                      Swallow a hallow make 'em digest with a 50 caliber
                      Yo futures not looking so good, tomorrows not on your calendar
                      I, do away with the amateurs, they breathing too long
                      Ill leave 'em coughing like the sound effects you hear in this song
                      My Shotguns are cold and hard, but my Desert is easy
                      And my triggers are always talking about some squeeze me, squeeze me
                      And for these fakers talking greezy, I'm starting the show
                      My Oozy got a drum roll, it goes...