Spm Diaries Lyrics - When Devils Strike - South Park

[SPM:] 

Whats the deal man, we back in this camp 

I'm doing this right here off the shot of ? my boy Flaco gave me you heard.. 

Crease in my pants as I dance with the devil 

I used to ride a bike that only had one pedal 

No nike kicks, broke than a bitch 

I started comin' up sellin' fat ass nicks 

I'ma flip it like a script at the ? 

Thats my new spot, 8 by 10 cubic 

Nah, I ain't stupid, never have been 

They locked up they ? now they all laughin' 

Celebrating life with they kids and they wifes 

They wishing I would die as my lil' girl cries 

Always knew that these hoes would be coming for me 

But my comeback's gone be something to see 

I can't stand a hoe, on a tv show 

That say I'm hispanic around latino 

Bitch you a mexican, say that shit 

Why the fuck is you acting scared to represent 

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[Chorus x2:] 

Everytime the wind blows I reach for my heat 

Peace to Sam Boone and my homie Pistol Pete 

I'm from the South East but got love for the North 

And these are just the diaries that SPM wrote 

[Rasheed:] 

Mr. SP can you spare a few pages 

To write whats on my mind and record a few tapes and 

It's the Rasheed creepin' in my Batman boat 

My money tripled like the chin on a fatman throat 

But haters could they hate yo voice I was kinda bored 

You know I always be the Dope House spinal cord 

I just been chillin', showin' boys how to wreck screw tapes 

And also how a haters body fits in one suitcase 

Photos 

[SPM:] 

I told you once, I eat you motherfuckers for lunch 

I pull more stunts than Knievel, bring it in by the tons 

I got guns, Homie I got guns 

I heard you had some heat too, but not much 

I'm the pusha, run 'em like Alaskan huskys 

And still smoke the finest, right by the trust SKS 

Bring it to your chest 

You should know by know, I don't aim for the legs 

[Chorus] 

[SPM:] 

Everybody gather round the fire, blow like a dryer 

I'ma run a lil' something by ya 

In the battlefield is nothing like you've ever known 

Soy el pelon de Houston con fe y corazon 

Estereo, en serio, Houston hasta Mexico 

Cortalo, vendelo, SPM dejalo 

Vato es maton, con su homie Low-G Flores 

Juan Gotti bring dolores y casa de millones 

Y Fiero, en este juego, necesitas huevos 

Mi treinta y ocho, ya no te quiero 

Puro AK-47, ya vete 

Tu vas pa tras y dile que te respete 

Cuando sales tengo jales en muchas partes 

Te doy coca y cuetes que son cuates 

Como mi ruka, maria juana, no hay otra 

Fumando me llamo Rolando Mota 

[Chorus] 

Every time the wind blows I reach for my heat 

And these are just the diaries that SPM wrote 

And these are just the diaries that SPM wrote 

And these are just the diaries that SPM wrote