Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Rylander

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

Uhh....one time baby,

First Verse

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

Chorus Rylander]:
He's a

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

I got scars jumpin' gates and sharp bars
We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop
Everyday you see me in a 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 instead
Fuck the crack rock , I and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a writin' on my laptop
It's all wiggy rockin' to city
But I still feel my past up with me
Got more ends, bought my Mom a Benz,
But she worry I still got all my old friends
Hopin' that I slow up and one day,
But these streets got me raised 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 and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music fountain
Who you This round is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in like a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with they foot in they
I guinesses, keep 'em off my premises,
to be menaces, now our dreams limitless
Isn't a trip? Not a slipper or a sleeper,
Niggas dope still hittin' up my beeper
But we can overcome the ghetto even G's a mother,
Bread without butter, I came crawlin' out a
Born hustler, to drive an old gas guzzler,
zombies, a following as big as Gandhi's,
Fresh out the hood I was dope last summer
Now I'm donkey dickin' and Blondies
Jammin' Jon B., with of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has upon thee