Luyện nghe bài hát Latin Throne

f/ Marilyn

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

Uhh....one baby, yeah

Verse [SPM]:

Land of dum-dum, is where I come
Believe me when I tell you that you don't 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 to be gangstas
taught to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language,
I'm just explainin' how the is
for the stainless, leave 'em brainless,
The strangest of things 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 mine, in the backstreets of South Park
Once again Mister SPM,
And the ain't gonna stop until I'm dead or in the pen

Chorus Rylander]:
a hustler

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

I got scars jumpin' metal gates and bars
We shootin' stars, runnin' cop cars
Everyday you see me in a crackhead's car
The hood is ours, save my pennies in a jar
So bizarre how so many miss 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 on my laptop
It's all rockin' city to city
But I still feel my catchin' up with me
Got ends, bought my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she worry I still got all my old friends
that I slow 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 her how to use this three eighty

Third Verse

Three years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music
Who you This round is comin' out the South
The Dopehouse sits in Houston a fuckin' mountain,
I got non-believers with they in they mouth
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' dope hittin' up my beeper
But we can overcome the even G's without 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 I was sellin' dope last summer
Now I'm dickin' Brunettes and Blondies
Jon B., with bottles of Don P.,
The day of the has striked upon thee