Latin Throne Lyrics - 3rd Wish To Rock The World - South Park

f/ Marilyn Rylander 

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

[SPM] 

Uhh....one time baby, yeah 

First Verse [SPM]: 

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 in the club in the, back alone 

So, Mama's don't let your babies grow to be gangstas 

Killas taught to not give a fuck, hit em up with sign language, 

I'm just explainin' how the game is 

Reach for the stainless, leave 'em brainless, 

The strangest of things come to me at no surprise, 

Utilized all my allies, I run with bad guys, 

Fuck pea shooters, all my gats are supersized 

I got seven dopehouses, 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 Mister SPM, 

And the shit ain't gonna stop until I'm dead or in the pen 

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Chorus [Marilyn Rylander]: 

He's a hustler 

He's a baller 

He sits on the 

Latin Throne 

He sits on the 

He's a hustler 

He's a baller 

Second Verse [SPM]: 

Latin Throne 

Photos 

I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp bars 

We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop cars 

Everyday you see me in a different crackhead's car 

The hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar 

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 gone be like the Brady's 

But for now I teach her how to use this three eighty 

Chorus 

Third Verse [SPM]: 

Three years and countin', I've been drinkin' from the music fountain 

Who you doubtin'? This round is comin' out the South 

The Dopehouse sits in Houston like a fuckin' mountain, 

I got non-believers with they foot in they mouth 

I break guinesses, keep 'em off my premises, 

Used to be menaces, now our dreams limitless 

Isn't this a trip? Not a slipper or a sleeper, 

Niggas wantin' dope still hittin' up my beeper 

But 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, 

Servin' zombies, a following as big as Gandhi's, 

Fresh out the hood I was sellin' dope last summer 

Now I'm donkey dickin' Brunettes and Blondies 

Jammin' Jon B., with bottles of Don P., 

The day of the Wetback has striked upon thee 

Chorus