Skip to content
Lyric
Dive
Public playlists
My playlists
Search
Sign in
Southern Gangsta
Ludacris ft. Rick Ross Playaz Circle & Ving Rhames
Popularity ยท Low
+
๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
0
0
Listen
YouTube
1
2
3
0:00 / 0:00
Loading YouTube player...
Lyrics offset
Synced
Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
He's a hustler unbound by law
A self-made millionaire
With a reckless disregard for the haters
Ludacris on Southern Gangster
ย
A true entrepreneur
CEO of Disturbing Tha Peace Records
He expanded his empire to 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, gangster, cap peeler
I stay strapped like your neighborhood trap dealer
I got rifles that blow you below your bible belt
And Mac-11's that leave you wetter than Michael Phelps
But you'll be swimming with the fishes
Softer than bitches washing dishes
Fool, what's the business?
I'm already rich, so talk mo' figures
Spent thirty large for cigars on you ho niggas
I got gangsters that'll rearrange your whole face
And put your casket on ice, now that's a cold case
Never forget where you come or the block will ban you
I keep my ear to the streets like a Cocker Spaniel
I'll cock and blast you into outer space
Break every bone in you, you so out of place
Boom without a trace, you have left the block
I got some red beams, let's play connect the dots
He's the biggest boss
Coming out of the M-I-A-O
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
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 pitching crack
Bitch I know Haitians, we speakin' Creole
Bitch I'm a D-boy, still slangin' 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 the road, call it third base
Get gas faced, chopper in your laugh face
Shoot his ass, same defense as 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-rolling hustlers
Tity Boi and Dolla Boy
Playaz Circle, AKA the Duffle Bag Boys
Uh, 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 niggas stay on line with the blow
I'm on time with the flow, not a minute nor a second late
Ain't no such thing as second place
And every day I lift heavy weight, you niggas featherweight
Fairy tale tellin' niggas really need to take a break
And the estate got a lake for a backyard
The pool room, pride, I 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 the two-door
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 Gangster
Thanks for tuning in
What's next for Luda?
Well, anything's possible in the theater of the mind
ย