Southern Gangsta

He's a hustler, unbound by law

A self-made, millionaire

With a wreckless disregard, for the haters

Ludacris, on "Southern Gangsta"

A true entrepre-negro

CEO of Disturbing Tha Peace Records

He expended his empire into multiple profitable businesses

Including his Thai food restaurant, Straits

Internet sites, WeMix.com

And my favorite, MyGhetto.com

The MVP, of this rap shit

Luda! I'm a hustler, baller, gangsta, cap peeler

I stay strapped like your neighborhood trap dealer

I got rifles that blow ya below ya bible belt

And mac-11's that leave you wetter than Michael Phelps (woo!)

But you'll be swimmin' with the fishes

Softer than bitches washin' dishes, fool what's the business?

I'm already rich, so talk mo' figures (yup)

Spit 30 large for cigars of you hoe niggaz (oww!)

I got gangstas that'll rearrange ya whole face

And put your casket on ice, now that's a cold case (ha!)

Never forget where you come, or that block'll bang you

I keep my ear to the streets like a cocker spaniel

I cock and blast you into outer space

Break every bone in ya, you so out of place

Boom without a trace, you a bluff to block

I got some red beams, let's play connect the dots!

He's the biggest boss, comin' outta the M-I-yayo

Straight from the "Port of Miami"

To keepin' it "Trilla"

Involved in many heated acts of violence

This goes deeper than rap shit

He's worth eight figures

So young niggaz, boss up

I present to you, Rick Ross, the boss

I got a letter from the government, the other day

I opened and read it, it said, "We want hustlers"

Had a Lexus at 18, picture that

Got a Chevy with pictures on it from pitchin' crack

Bitch, I know Haitians, we speakin' Creole

Bitch, I'm a D-boy, still slingin' kilos

I got 20 cars, why exaggerate?

It cost me five grand just to fill the gas tanks

Love the marble floors, got the Greek pillows

Frontin' at awards, real street niggaz

I used to serve shake, now I serve steaks

Three squares on the road, call it 3rd Bass

Big ass face, chop you in your laugh face

Shoot his ass, aim defense is the last case

Keep Jewish friends, the newest Benz

You in a pool of blood, let me see you swim

Hailing from College Park, Georgia

Authorities figured they must have been some sort of mob

Or illegal organization

According to authorities, they made a quarter mil' a week

Selling mid-grade, they were some high-rollin' hustlers

Tity Boi, and Dolla Boy

Playaz Circle, A.K.A., the Duffle Bag Boys

Uhh, I'm so sick I wrote this verse in a hospital

It's an election year, I support struggle

We roll like bicycles, icicle flow

White liquor, my nigga stay online with the blow

I'm on time with the flow, not a minute nor second late

Ain't no such thing as second place

And every day I live heavyweight, you niggaz featherweight

Fairytale tellin' niggaz really need to take a break

And the estate got a lake for a backyard

The poolroom product put it all on my sacks card

For real? (Yeah, for real)

I'm ill, I deal, I did, I will

I got dogs like Cujo, me and Tity two chains ridin' in a two do'

Bitches catch kudos (you know)

Yeah, we move weight like sumos

And kicks it with them bitches like judo

Southside!

Playaz Circle, Rick Ross, Ludacris

This has been another episode, of "Southern Gangsta"

Thanks for tunin' in, what's next for Luda?

Well, anything's possible in the Theater of the Mind