Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Rylander

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

Uhh....one time baby,

Verse [SPM]:

Land of dum-dum, is where I from
Believe me when I tell you that you want none son
A long, road for this, latin throne
You can catch me in the club in the, alone
So, Mama's don't let babies grow to be gangstas
Killas to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm explainin' how the game 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 seven dopehouses, that's a
Man cries if he was blessed a heart,
But I lost mine, in the backstreets of Park
Once again Mister SPM,
And the shit ain't gonna stop until I'm or in the pen

Chorus [Marilyn
He's a

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

I got jumpin' metal gates and sharp bars
We shootin' stars, runnin' cop cars
Everyday you see me in a different 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 stick this instead
Fuck the crack , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane on my laptop
all wiggy rockin' city to city
But I still feel my catchin' up with me
Got more ends, my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she 'cause I still got all my old friends
that I slow up and change one day,
But these 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 Verse

Three years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the fountain
Who you doubtin'? This round is out the South
The Dopehouse in Houston like a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with foot in they mouth
I break guinesses, 'em off my premises,
Used to be menaces, now our limitless
Isn't a trip? Not a slipper or a sleeper,
Niggas wantin' dope still 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,
Fresh out the hood I was sellin' last summer
Now I'm donkey dickin' and Blondies
Jammin' Jon B., with of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has upon thee