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    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 twenty 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 {?}, 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 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 niggaz featherweight)
    (Fairytale tellin niggaz 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!

    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)

    Letra enviada por Broken'
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