Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Marilyn

no stoppin' this movement...gotta roll with it

Uhh....one baby, yeah

First [SPM]:

Land of dum-dum, is where I from
Believe me when I tell you you don't want none son
A long, road for this, latin throne
You can me in the club in the, back alone
So, Mama's don't let your grow to be gangstas
Killas taught to not a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm explainin' how the game is
for the stainless, leave 'em brainless,
The strangest of things to me at no surprise,
Utilized all my allies, I run bad guys,
Fuck pea shooters, all my gats are
I got seven dopehouses, that's a
Man if he was blessed with a heart,
But I lost mine, in the backstreets of South
again it's Mister SPM,
And the shit gonna 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
Verse [SPM]:
Latin

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

Third Verse

Three years and countin', I've drinkin' from the music fountain
Who you doubtin'? This is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse in Houston like a fuckin' mountain,
I got with they foot in they mouth
I guinesses, keep 'em off my premises,
Used to be menaces, now our dreams
Isn't this a Not a slipper or a sleeper,
Niggas wantin' dope still hittin' up my
But we can the ghetto even G's without a mother,
Bread without butter, I crawlin' out a gutter
hustler, used to drive an old gas guzzler,
Servin' zombies, a 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 has striked upon thee