“What’s Your Fantasy?” Verse I

I wanna get you in the Georgia Dome on the fifty-yard line
While the Dirty Birds kick for t’ree
And if you like in the club we can do it in the DJ booth

Or in the back of the V.I.P.

I would like to rut you in Atlanta’s Georgia Dome stadium,

Right there upon the fifty-yard line—the middlemost point!

Where professional footballers the Atlanta Falcons often attempt field goals.

Or, if you’d prefer, we can fornicate in the nightclub of your choice,

In the disc jockey’s booth or in the Very Important Person section, in the rear.

Whipped cream with cherries and strawberries on top
Lick it, don’t stop, keep the door locked, don’t knock while the boat rock 
We Gobots and robots so they gotta wait till the show stop

May I spread whisked crème Chantilly, along with cherries and strawberries,

Upon your body, only to thereafter lick it from your physique?

Do not stop your sexy actions! We must keep our door bolted,

And tell any intruders not to attend us while we conjugate so madly!

We are Tonka-brand Gobot toys—we resemble automatons

In our repetition and endurance; an audience must wait for us to finish.

Or how ’bout on the beach with black sand?

Lick up your thigh, they call me the Pac-Man
Table top or just give me the lap dance
The Rock to the Park to the Point to the Flatlands

Or would you enjoy being copulated on a black sand beach, such as that in Maui?

I will lick you up your thigh and then perform cunnilingus upon you,

Much like chomping Namco-brand video game character Pac-Man.

Dance upon a table for me, or simply grind your loins into my own.

Let us fornicate throughout Atlanta, Georgia: From the Rock Church

To Washington Park to East Point to the coastal plain of northern Georgia.

That man, hey Ludacris! (Woo!) In the public bathroom

Or in the back of the classroom
However you want it, lover-lover, gonna tap that ass soon
See, I cast ’em and I passed ’em

Get a tight grip and I grasp ’em
I flash ’em and outlast ’em

And if it ain’t good then I trash ’em

That man, Christopher Brian “Ludacris” Bridges—myself that is (Woo!)

Will also have you in the public’s washroom or in the back of a classroom.

However you want it, my paramour, I’m going to sodomize you shortly.

Understand that I’ve abandoned women and passed them on to my compatriots.

I obtain a tight grip on my women by grasping any I like.

I bedazzle these lucky strumpets and then make love to them enduringly.

If the sex isn’t of a quality I consider adequate, I discard them.

While you stash ’em, I let ’em free 
And they tell me what they fantasy
Like up on the roof, roof,

Tell your boyfriend not to be mad at me!

While you other men jealously restrain your intimate lovelies,

I romance them to the point where they release their hidden nymphomaniacs.

In this wise, they inform me of their sexual fantasies.

Such as being manhandled upon a building’s roof—a roof, I say!
Ladies who I’ve lain with, tell your beaus not to begrudge me!