Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Rylander

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

Uhh....one baby, yeah

Verse [SPM]:

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

[Marilyn Rylander]:
He's a

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

I got scars metal gates and sharp bars
We shootin' stars, from cop cars
Everyday you see me in a different car
The hood is ours, my pennies in a pickle jar
So how so many bullets miss my head,
I told my Mom, that I'm gonna with this instead
Fuck the rock , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane on my laptop
It's all wiggy city to city
But I still feel my past up with me
Got more ends, bought my Mom a Benz,
But she worry 'cause I still got all my old
Hopin' that I up and change one day,
But Hillwood streets got me raised one way
I my lady one day we gone be like the Brady's
But for now I teach her how to use this eighty

Third Verse

Three years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music
Who you doubtin'? This round is comin' out the
The Dopehouse in Houston like a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with they foot in they
I break guinesses, 'em off my premises,
Used to be menaces, now our limitless
Isn't this a Not a slipper or a sleeper,
Niggas wantin' still hittin' up my beeper
But we can the ghetto even G's without a mother,
Bread without butter, I came out a gutter
hustler, used 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., bottles of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has upon thee