Rick Ross

Rick Ross - Southern Gangsters

rate me

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,

And my favorite,

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

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

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


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

Get this song at:  amazon.com  sheetmusicplus.com

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found