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Correct Southern Gangsters Lyrics
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Rick Ross
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Correct Southern Gangsters
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Lyrics:
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 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
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