spm – latin throne lyrics
[verse 1:]
land of dum dum is where i come from
believe me when i tell you that you don’t want none son
a long hard road 4 this latin throne
you can catch me at the club in the back alone
mama’s, don’t let your babies grow up 2 be gangsta’s
killer’s taught us 2 not give a f-ck
hit ’em up with sign language
reach 4 the stainless, leave ’em brainless
i’m just explainin’ how the game is
the strangest of things come 2 me at no surprise
f-ck peashooters all my gats are superiszed
utilize all my allies, i run with the bad guys
i got 7 dope house’s that’s a franchise
man cries if he was blessed with a heart
but i lost mine in the backstreets of south park
once again it’s mr. spm
& this sh-t ain’t gonna stop until i’m dead or in the pen.
he’s a hustler, he’s a baller, he sits on the latin throne. [x2]
[verse 2:]
we shootin’ stars, runnin’ from cop cars
i got scars jumpin’ metal gates & sharp pars
the hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar
everyday you see me in a different crackhead’s car
so bizzare how so many bullets missed my head
i told my mom that i’m gonna stick with this instead
f-ck the crackrock, i rapped & hit the jackpot
now i’m on a plane writin’ on my laptop
it’s all wiggy rockin’ city 2 city
but i still feel my past catchin’ up with me
got mo’ ends, bought my mom a gold benz
but she worried cause i still got all my old friends
hopin’ that i slow up & change one day
but these hillwood streets got me raised one way
i told my old lady one day we gon’ be like the brady’s
but for now i’ll teach you how 2 use this 380.
he’s a hustler, he’s a baller, he sits on the latin throne. [x2]
[verse 3:]
3 years & countin’ i been drinkin’ from the music fountain
the dope house sits in houston like a f-ckin’ mountain.
who you doubtin’? this browns comin’ out the south
i got 9 believers with they foot in they mouth
i break guineses, keep ’em off my premesis
used 2 be menaces, now our dreams limitless.
isn’t this a trip? not a slipper or a sleeper
n-gg-s wantin’ dope still hittin’ up my beeper
we can overcome the ghetto, even g’s without a mother
bread without b-tter i came crawlin’ out a gutter
born hustler, used 2 drive an old gas guzzler
fresh out the hood, i was sellin’ dope last summer
servin’ zombies all followin’ as big as yhandi’s
now i’m throwed diggin’ brunettes & blondies
jammin’ jon b with bottles of dom p
the day of the wetback has striked upon thee.
he’s a hustler, he’s a baller, he sits on the latin throne. [x2]
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