Land Of The Lost Lyrics - 3rd Wish To Rock The World - South Park

f/ Marilyn Rylander 

First Verse (SPM): 

He was the son of a dope man, what he saw was what he learned 

He left school, now it's finally his turn 

To rob and steal, but he feels he needs to stop and chill 

'cause deep in his heart he knows that God is real 

Mama still tries, to open his eyes 

'cause the way a man lives is the way a man dies 

His father's doing twenty-five to life 

'cause the love of money cuts like a knife 

Blinding lights, he doesn't know which way to go 

His best friend just got killed two days ago 

He writes his Dad the first letter that he ever wrote 

A little note, about how bad his heart was broke 

Before the mail, could even reach his jail cell 

The boy was murdered at a neighborhood hotel 

selling wholesale just like his pop taught him 

Rock bottom, a muthafuckin' cop shot him 

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Chorus (Marilyn Rylander): 

We always will.... 

Remember you... 

We always will... 

Have love for you... 

A taste of life.... 

And now your gone... 

You found a life.... 

In the Land of the Lost.... 

Second Verse (SPM): 

Photos 

They met when they was teenagers, around the tenth grade 

She fell in love, and now he wants to get paid 

He convinced her to work at the buck naked 

And everything she made dancing he would take it 

She got a fake I.D., and a club license 

A second life, that she had to live in silence 

At seventeen, she got the strength to finally leave him 

That's when she met the demon 

Circumstances that led to last dances 

It was a cold murder, he made sure that he really hurt her 

Over dumb shit, but he had to take it further 

She hit the canvas, now she at Saint Frances 

Six o' clock services, feel the nervousness 

Of having to look at death perfectless 

I'm smoking roaches burning the shit out my fingers 

Remembering the words of the Church choir singers 

Chorus 

Third Verse (SPM): 

Another Mexican gangbanger 

A trigger happy ditch digger 

Set tripper, wig splitter 

Itchy finger quick to blast upon a rival 

Vida loca, another word for suicidal 

Same color of skin, but different color rags 

Browns putting browns up in body bags 

Every two or three streets is a different clique 

They got no love for themselves so they living sick 

For centuries we been filling penitentaries 

It's plain to see, we're our worst enemy 

The smartest, most talented of the raza 

Is all dead or doing time for a fuckin' Tronza 

Geniuses, all dying meaningless 

'cause they can't find a way to break free from this 

Needless to say, the gangsta that I speak of 

G-Love, is laying in a grave that he dug 

Chorus (2x