Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Marilyn

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

Uhh....one time baby,

First Verse

of dum-dum, is where I come from
Believe me when I tell you that you don't want son
A long, hard for this, latin throne
You can catch me in the club in the, back
So, Mama's don't let babies grow to be gangstas
Killas taught to not a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm just explainin' how the is
Reach for the stainless, 'em brainless,
The strangest of come to me at no surprise,
all my allies, I run with bad guys,
Fuck pea shooters, all my are supersized
I got dopehouses, that's a franchise
Man cries if he was with a heart,
But I lost mine, in the backstreets of South
again it's Mister SPM,
And the shit ain't stop until I'm dead or in the pen

[Marilyn Rylander]:
He's a

a baller
He on the
Latin
He on the
a hustler
He's a
Second [SPM]:
Throne

I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp
We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop
Everyday you see me in a crackhead's car
The hood is ours, save my pennies in a jar
So bizarre how so many miss my head,
I told my Mom, that I'm gonna stick with instead
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 still feel my catchin' up with me
Got ends, bought my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she worry 'cause I still got all my old
that I slow up and change one day,
But Hillwood streets got me raised 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', been drinkin' from the music fountain
Who you This round is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in Houston like a mountain,
I got with they foot in they mouth
I break guinesses, 'em off my premises,
Used to be menaces, now our dreams
Isn't this a trip? Not a or a sleeper,
wantin' dope still hittin' up my beeper
But we can the ghetto even G's without a mother,
without butter, I came crawlin' out a gutter
Born hustler, to drive an old gas guzzler,
Servin' zombies, a as big as Gandhi's,
out the hood I was sellin' dope last summer
Now I'm donkey dickin' and Blondies
Jammin' Jon B., bottles of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has striked thee