Lyrics:

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 fuck
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
Fuck 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
And this shit 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
He's a hustler, he's a baller, He sits on the Latin Throne
We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop cars
I got scars jumpin' metal gates and 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
Fuck the crackrock, 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 mo' ends, bought my mom a gold Benz
But she worried 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'll teach you how to use this 380.
He's a hustler, He's a baller, He sits on the Latin Throne
He's a hustler, He's a baller, He sits on the Latin Throne
3 years and countin' I been drinkin' from the music fountain
The Dope House sits in Houston like a fuckin' mountain
Who you doubtin'? This browns comin' out the south
I got nine believers with they foot in they mouth
I break guineses, keep 'em off my premesis
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
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 all followin' as big as Yhandi's
Now I'm throwed diggin' brunettes and 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
He's a hustler, he's a baller, he sits on the Latin Throne
He's a hustler, he's a baller, he sits on the Latin Throne
He's a hustler, he's a baller, he sits on the Latin Throne