Latin Throne by South Park Mexican Lyrics
[South Park Mexican]
Uh
One time, baby
Yeah
Ain't no stoppin' this movement
Ha
Gotta roll with it
(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 for this
Latin throne
You can catch me at the club in the
Back alone
Mommas
Don't let your babies grow up to be
Gangstas
Killers taught to not give a fuck
Hit 'em up with sign language
Reach for the stainless
Leave 'em brainless
I'm just explainin' how the game is
The strangest of things come to me at no surprise
Fuck pea shooters
All my gats are super-sized
Utilized all my allies
I run with the bad guys
I got seven Dope Houses
That's a franchise
Man cries if he was blessed with a heart
But I lost mine
In the back streets of South Park
Once again, it's Mr. SPM
And the shit ain't gonna stop until I'm dead or in the pen
Chorus: Marilyn Rylander
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the
Latin throne
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the
Latin throne
(Verse 2)
We shootin' stars
Runnin' from cop cars
I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp bars
The hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar
Everyday, you see me in a different crackhead's car
So bizarre how so many bullets miss my head
I told my mom that I'm gonna stick with this instead
Fuck the crack rock, I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane, writin' on my laptop
It's all wiggy rockin' city to city
But I still feel my past catchin' up with me
Got more ends, bought my mom a gold Benz
But she worry cause I still got
All my old friends
Hopin' that I slow up and change one day
But these Hillwood streets got me raised one way
I told my lady, "One day, we gon' be like the Brady's"
But for now, I teach her how to use this .380
Repeat Chorus
(Verse 3)
Three years and countin', I been drinkin' from the music fountain
The Dope House sits in Houston like a fuckin' mountain
Who you doubtin', this round is comin' out the south
I got non-believers with they foot in they mouth
I break Guinnesses, keep 'em off my premises
Used to be menaces
Now our dream's limitless
Isn't this a trip, not a slipper or a sleeper
Niggas wantin' dope, still hittin' up my beeper
We can overcome the ghetto, even G's without a mother
Bread without butter, I came crawlin' out a gutter
Born hustler
Used to drive an old gas guzzler
Fresh out the hood, I was sellin' dope last summer
Servin' zombies, a followin' as big as Gandhi's
Now I'm donkey-dickin' brunettes and blondies
Jammin' Jon B., with bottles of Dom P
The day of the wetback has striked upon thee
Repeat Chorus
{*Marilyn Rylander harmonizing*}
[Marilyn Rylander]
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the Latin throne
Uh
One time, baby
Yeah
Ain't no stoppin' this movement
Ha
Gotta roll with it
(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 for this
Latin throne
You can catch me at the club in the
Back alone
Mommas
Don't let your babies grow up to be
Gangstas
Killers taught to not give a fuck
Hit 'em up with sign language
Reach for the stainless
Leave 'em brainless
I'm just explainin' how the game is
The strangest of things come to me at no surprise
Fuck pea shooters
All my gats are super-sized
Utilized all my allies
I run with the bad guys
I got seven Dope Houses
That's a franchise
Man cries if he was blessed with a heart
But I lost mine
In the back streets of South Park
Once again, it's Mr. SPM
And the shit ain't gonna stop until I'm dead or in the pen
Chorus: Marilyn Rylander
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the
Latin throne
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the
Latin throne
(Verse 2)
We shootin' stars
Runnin' from cop cars
I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp bars
The hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar
Everyday, you see me in a different crackhead's car
So bizarre how so many bullets miss my head
I told my mom that I'm gonna stick with this instead
Fuck the crack rock, I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane, writin' on my laptop
It's all wiggy rockin' city to city
But I still feel my past catchin' up with me
Got more ends, bought my mom a gold Benz
But she worry cause I still got
All my old friends
Hopin' that I slow up and change one day
But these Hillwood streets got me raised one way
I told my lady, "One day, we gon' be like the Brady's"
But for now, I teach her how to use this .380
Repeat Chorus
(Verse 3)
Three years and countin', I been drinkin' from the music fountain
The Dope House sits in Houston like a fuckin' mountain
Who you doubtin', this round is comin' out the south
I got non-believers with they foot in they mouth
I break Guinnesses, keep 'em off my premises
Used to be menaces
Now our dream's limitless
Isn't this a trip, not a slipper or a sleeper
Niggas wantin' dope, still hittin' up my beeper
We can overcome the ghetto, even G's without a mother
Bread without butter, I came crawlin' out a gutter
Born hustler
Used to drive an old gas guzzler
Fresh out the hood, I was sellin' dope last summer
Servin' zombies, a followin' as big as Gandhi's
Now I'm donkey-dickin' brunettes and blondies
Jammin' Jon B., with bottles of Dom P
The day of the wetback has striked upon thee
Repeat Chorus
{*Marilyn Rylander harmonizing*}
[Marilyn Rylander]
He's a hustler
He's a father
He sits on the Latin throne