Southern Gangsta (Album Version (Explicit)) (Feat. Rick Ross, Playaz Circle & 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 pillrs 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 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 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 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+