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"I wrote that song ['Hustlin''] in about an hour on some good kush," says Miami-born hip-hop superstar Rick Ross as we sit in the entertainment room of his new Davie mansion on a recent Saturday night. "My definition of hustlin' is: Handle your business, I'm gonna handle mine. Believe that. To really hustle, you gotta be sure of yourself." We're watching stand-up comedian Katt Williams on a large-screen TV set, but my eyes are still adjusting to the brightness of the large chandelier dangling from the high ceiling. "My next crib, I'm gonna have some pet tigers," he says, laughing, in the same slow-and-low, Barry White-style pitch in which he raps. "They'll come up and smell you."
"As long as you break bread," he continues, "everything we do is like a partnership. You gotta make it happen, though." He stands up, and I follow him into the kitchen and dining area, where a tattoo artist is setting up ink and needles on a glass table. Ross takes off his shirt and puts a hand over his rib cage: "I am getting the head of the Statue of Liberty right here." Why? "God loves me. I started with nothing and here I am." He points to the TV set, indicating Williams. "This nigga right here got his DVD called American Hustler with my song on it. We damn near made Def Jam break the bank.... That is what a hustler is."
Rick Ross — a.k.a. the Bo$$, Chief of Miami, Rick the Ruler — was born William Roberts almost 31 years ago in Carol City. His debut album, Port of Miami, released on Slip-N-Slide in 2006, celebrated the 305's legendary reputation as cocaine capital of the Americas. It went on to become certified platinum, selling more than a million copies and reaching number one on the Billboard album chart. For a while you could not go anywhere in Miami-Dade County without hearing the mantralike chorus ("Every day I'm huss-a-lin") of breakout single "Hustlin'." The song was produced by the Runners, from Orlando, and set a record in ringtone sales (more than a million). "Ringtones are a really good source of income," says Ross, pointing to a cell phone-shape plaque on the wall, given to him by the Recording Industry Association of America. "Good money. Believe me, I know."
But beyond music, Ross has his hand in other lucrative pots. In 2006 he established Rick Ross Charities Inc., which offers educational, social, and mentoring programs for inner-city youth. He owns a restaurant in North Miami called Hip-Hop Grub Spot (try the Lil Wayne Fish and Chips, T.I. Fried Macaroni, and, for dessert, the Trina Mango Pie). His Ringleader brand of clothing will be available soon. He has also designed shoes for Converse with Dwyane Wade, and owns a hair salon in Atlanta.
Various awards adorn the wall between the foyer and the entertainment room in Ross's home. Which turns the conversation to football: After graduating from Carol City Senior High School, he attended Albany State University on a football scholarship. Which leads to a discussion regarding the recent murder of Miami native and pro football player Sean Taylor. "Rest in peace," Ross says as he shakes his head. "That man dead and gone." As we step outside through a glass door, he continues. "It is fucked up.... You are a major-league athlete ... an entertainer ... you gotta be able to protect your family and your home. I'm pretty sure it would've been a different outcome, come around here with that. I'm shooting through the walls. I ain't lookin'." He holds up his thumb and pointer finger and says, "His girl and his baby was already in the bed. Everything on the other side of the wall deserves to die, dogs and pets included. I would've shot all through that shit — 200-plus rounds. Some young punks come and break and enter for a watch or something. I would've shot the shit out of them.
"Whenever you are in the public eye," he continues, "you become a target to some extent. So you gotta always be ready for that. Where I come from ... I'm ready anyway, for no reason. Just know that." Standing six-foot-two and weighing around 300 pounds, Ross looks like he means business. "This is fair warning to everybody. I'm strapped, boy, and I'm gonna let your ass have it, period. Ain't no sugar-coatin' it. That goes for every man of a household. It is an amendment right, to bear arms. Protect your life and your family's."
In the back yard, although it is nighttime, the swimming pool's lighting system is so bright I have to put my sunglasses on. As I do, Ross informs me that a crew from MTV Cribs is expected in a few weeks, so the decorating is still in progress. From a bubbling Jacuzzi atop a small cement hill, a man-made waterfall pours into a large oval swimming pool. Pineapples grow in a well-manicured garden. Trails of marble slabs arranged in geometric patterns snake through the grass, forming walkways between the patio and pool area.
Ross picks up an electronic box with knobs and a blinking red light. "If the sun gets too hot in the daytime, you can still walk barefoot on the marble out here," he explains, pressing a button that adjusts the temperature on the marble deck. He points to a tall, exotic-looking plant. "That tree cost $25,000," he declares. A number of them are sprinkled along the estate's perimeter. Then he turns, pointing toward the black abyss beyond the waterfall. "That is going to be my own private golf course. You can look up and see all the stars out there." He puts a hand on my shoulder and imparts what he says is his most important piece of advice: "Save your life — that is my advice to you. Do whatever you have to do to save your life. That is the best advice I can give you and all of my loyal readers."