Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Rylander

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

Uhh....one baby, yeah

First Verse

of dum-dum, is where I come from
Believe me when I tell you you don't want none son
A long, road for this, latin throne
You can catch me in the club in the, back
So, Mama's don't let your babies grow to be
Killas taught to not give a fuck, hit em up sign language,
I'm explainin' how the game is
for the stainless, leave 'em brainless,
The of things 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 cries if he was with a heart,
But I lost mine, in the of South Park
Once again Mister SPM,
And the shit ain't gonna stop I'm dead or in the pen

Chorus Rylander]:
He's a

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

I got scars metal gates and sharp bars
We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop
Everyday you see me in a crackhead's car
The is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar
So bizarre how so many bullets my head,
I told my Mom, that I'm gonna with this instead
Fuck the crack , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane writin' on my
It's all wiggy rockin' 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' I slow up and change one day,
But these Hillwood 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 [SPM]:

years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music fountain
Who you This round is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in Houston a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with foot in they mouth
I break guinesses, '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 the ghetto even G's without a mother,
Bread without butter, I came out a gutter
Born hustler, to drive an old gas guzzler,
zombies, a following as big as Gandhi's,
Fresh out the I was sellin' dope last summer
Now I'm dickin' Brunettes and Blondies
Jammin' Jon B., bottles of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has striked upon