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Текст песни South Park Mexican f Marilyn Rylander - Latin Throne

South Park Mexican f Marilyn Rylander - Latin Throne слова песни

[SPM]Uhh....one time baby, yeahAin`t no stoppin` this movement...gotta roll with itFirst Verse [SPM]:Land of dum-dum, is where I come fromBelieve me when I tell you that you don`t want none sonA long, hard road for this, latin throneYou can catch me in the club in the, back aloneSo, Mama`s don`t let your babies grow to be gangstasKillas taught to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language,Reach for the stainless, leave `em brainless,I`m just explainin` how the game isThe strangest of things come to me at no surprise,Fuck pea shooters, all my gats are supersizedUtilized all my allies, I run with bad guys,I got seven dopehouses, that`s a franchiseMan cries if he was blessed with a heart,But I lost mine, in the backstreets of South ParkOnce again it`s Mister SPM, And the shit ain`t gonna stop until I`m dead or in the penChorus [Marilyn Rylander]:He`s a hustlerHe`s a ballerHe sits on theLatin ThroneHe`s a hustlerHe`s a ballerHe sits on theLatin ThroneSecond Verse [SPM]:We shootin` stars, runnin` from cop carsI got scars jumpin` metal gates and sharp barsThe hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jarEveryday you see me in a different crackhead`s carSo bizarre how so many bullets miss my head,I told my Mom, that I`m gonna stick with this insteadFuck the crack rock , I rapped and hit the jackpotNow I`m on a plane writin` on my laptopIt`s all wiggy rockin` city to cityBut I still feel my past catchin` up with meGot more ends, bought my Mom a Gold Benz,But she worry cuz I still got all my old friendsHopin` that I slow up and change one day,But these Hillwood streets got me raised one wayI told my lady one day we gone be like the Brady`sBut for now I teach her how to use this three eightyChorusThird Verse [SPM]:Three years and countin`, I`ve been drinkin` from the music fountainThe Dopehouse sits in Houston like a fuckin` mountain,Who you doubtin`? This round is comin` out the SouthI got non-believers with they foot in they mouthI break guinesses, keep `em off my premises,Used to be menaces, now our dreams limitlessIsn`t this a trip? Not a slipper or a sleeper,Niggas wantin` dope still hittin` up my beeperBut we can overcome the ghetto even G`s without a mother,Bread without butter, I came crawlin` out a gutterBorn hustler, used to drive an old gas guzzler,Fresh out the hood I was sellin` dope last summerServin` zombies, a following as big as Gandhi`s,Now I`m donkey dickin` Brunettes and BlondiesJammin` Jon B., with bottles of Don P.,The day of the Wetback has striked upon theeChorus

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