Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Marilyn

Ain't no stoppin' this movement...gotta with it

Uhh....one baby, yeah

Verse [SPM]:

Land of dum-dum, is where I come
me when I tell you that you don't want none son
A long, hard for this, latin throne
You can me in the club in the, back alone
So, Mama's don't let your babies grow to be
taught to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm just how the game is
Reach for the stainless, 'em brainless,
The strangest of come to me at no surprise,
Utilized all my allies, I run bad guys,
pea shooters, all my gats are supersized
I got seven dopehouses, a franchise
Man if he was blessed with a heart,
But I mine, in the backstreets of South Park
Once again it's SPM,
And the shit ain't gonna stop until I'm or in the pen

Chorus [Marilyn
a hustler

He's a
He on the
Latin
He on the
He's a
He's a
Second Verse
Throne

I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp
We shootin' stars, runnin' cop cars
you see me in a different crackhead's car
The hood is ours, my pennies in a pickle jar
So bizarre how so bullets miss my head,
I told my Mom, that I'm gonna stick with this
the crack rock , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a writin' on my laptop
all wiggy rockin' city to city
But I feel my past catchin' up with me
Got more ends, my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she worry I still got all my old friends
Hopin' that I slow up and one day,
But these Hillwood streets got me one way
I told my lady one day we gone be like the
But for now I teach her how to use this eighty

Third [SPM]:

Three years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music
Who you doubtin'? This is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in Houston like a mountain,
I got non-believers they foot in they mouth
I break guinesses, 'em off my premises,
to be menaces, now our dreams limitless
Isn't this a Not a slipper or a sleeper,
wantin' dope still hittin' up my beeper
But we can overcome the ghetto G's without a mother,
Bread without butter, I came out a gutter
Born hustler, used to an old gas guzzler,
zombies, a following as big as Gandhi's,
Fresh out the I was sellin' dope last summer
Now I'm donkey dickin' Brunettes and
Jon B., with bottles of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has striked upon