Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Rylander

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

Uhh....one baby, yeah

Verse [SPM]:

Land of dum-dum, is where I come
Believe me when I tell you that you want none son
A long, hard for this, latin throne
You can catch me in the in the, back alone
So, Mama's don't let your babies grow to be
Killas to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm just how the game 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 gats are
I got seven dopehouses, a franchise
Man cries if he was blessed a heart,
But I lost mine, in the backstreets of South
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
Latin
He on the
a hustler
He's a
Second [SPM]:
Latin

I got scars jumpin' metal gates and bars
We stars, runnin' from cop cars
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 stick with this
the crack rock , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane writin' on my
It's all wiggy rockin' city to
But I still my past catchin' up with me
Got more ends, my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she 'cause I still got all my old friends
Hopin' that I up and change one day,
But these Hillwood streets got me one way
I my lady one day we gone be like the Brady's
But for now I teach her how to use this three

Third Verse

years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music fountain
Who you doubtin'? This is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in Houston a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with they foot in they
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 wantin' dope still up my beeper
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 hood I was sellin' dope last
Now I'm donkey dickin' Brunettes and
Jammin' Jon B., with of Don P.,
The day of the Wetback has striked thee