Southern Gangsta

[Intro: Ving Rhames]

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 expanded 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

[Verse 1: Ludacris]

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 ho niggas (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!

[Interlude: Ving Rhames]

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 niggas, boss up

I present to you, Rick Ross, the boss

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]

I got a letter from the government, the other day

I opened and read it, it said "We were 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 twenty cars, why exaggerate?

It cost me five grand just to fill the gas tanks

Love the marble floors, got the Greek pillars

Frontin at awards, real street niggas

I used to serve shake, now I serve steaks

Three squares on a row, call it 3rd Bass

Get the Gas Face, chopper 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

[Interlude: Ving Rhames]

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

[Verse 3: Tity Boi & Dolla Boy]

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

It's an election year, I support strippers

We roll like bicycles, icicle flow

White liquor, my nigga stay on line 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 niggas featherweight

Fairytale tellin niggas really need to take a break

And the estate got a lake for a backyard

The pool room Prada, put it all on my Saks card

For real? (Yeah, for real) I'm ill, I deal, I did, I will

I got dogs like Cujo, me and Tity 2 Chainz 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!

[Outro: Ving Rhames]

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