Mad Fo (feat. Ludacris, Chris Brown, Swizz Beats & Pusha T)

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 sayin'? Tell me what they mad fo'; come around the hood See us sittin' 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' Time to start putting grown-ass men on time out Go to the corner and cry somehwere man Old insecure ass nigga; yo' heart pump Kool-Aid man What you mad at me for - Luda! 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 makin' 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 already drove Any chick that you hit, my nigga I've already ho'd Say it with your chest like these diamonds on my charm 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 Taking a shot 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... Tell me what they mad fo'; come around the hood See us sittin' 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' Ha! Is you niggas hating cause you mad Or is you mad cause you hatin'? Choose one, hater Now if these niggas hating on me I'mma kill them dead If I wasn't rapping I'd be probably be in the feds In the cell, getting mail, with a million dollar bail But instead of counting blues, I'mma take this YSL And this Gucci, and this Louis, Prada cause I'm hotter I used to ball in Philly, with that nina Iguodala I beefs up in my Beamer, 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 Haha, look, yeah Ok, I see why you mad, I'm countin' all this money And I'm popping all these tags, hoppin' to it, fuckin' bunnies Real nigga, one hundred, you tryin' 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 sayin' Just because I'm balling, that don't mean a nigga playin' Haters can blow me like a fan Flyer than a bitch, I don't think I'mma 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 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, bumpin' 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 fuckin', yeah you get embarassed 500 hunnid on them racks, pulled out them stacks Niggas talkin' crazy, drop top Maybachs My life is just ludicrous, sucka you just new to this 430's pullin' up; goddamn we do this shit Chickens and the waffles, chillin' in the villa Bumping Ludaversal, gettin' that scrilla Yuuugh! Hey Luda, you know why these haters mad for 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 the motherfucking target for this killing Ain't y'all the motherfuckers with the millions?