Southern Gangsters Lyrics - Theater Of The Mind - Ludacris

He's a hustler, unbound by law 

A self-made millionaire 

With a reckless 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 

Includin' 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 

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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 

Spit thirty large for cigars of you hoe niggaz 

I got gangstas that'll rearrange ya whole face 

And put your casket on ice, now that's a cold case 

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 MIYayo 

Straight from the port of Miami 

To keepin' it trilla 

Involved in many heated acts of violence 

Photos 

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 eighteen, 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 third 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 

Hailin' 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 

Sellin' [Incomprehensible] 

They were some high rollin' hustlers 

Tity Boi and Dolla Boy 

Playaz Circle aka the Duffel Bag Boys 

Uh, 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