El Jugador Lyrics

Eh he he he he

Hustle Town my city maan!

Born and raised baby

Yo I dedicate this jam to all the single mothers

Raisin' men in a big city

I know it's hard

Let 'em know what's up Filero

[Verse 1: Filero]

I sell drugs with thugs

Hittin' licks off tricks

Workin' two jobs a dope deala and a pimp

Mom's beggin' me to stop everyday

So scared for me to walkâ?¦. Memory lane

But Mom don't worry my teck protect well

I told ya one day this rap shit gone sell

But my heart been broke from the start

Since the day my father died when I was seven in the park

So I wrote the book

How to pimp hoes and kick do's

And if I kill well than that's just how the shit go

Pull yo strap

What am I supposed to sweat

This the third time today that I come close to death

[Chorus: SPM]

Hustle Town Hustle Town

The city of dreams

Where we creep through the hood

And we serve them dope fiends

Hustle Town

The shit don't stop

Roll rental cars

And we keep the glock cocked

Hustle Town

The city of dreams

Where we creep through the hood

And we serve them dope fiends

Hustle Town

The shit don't stop

Roll rental cars

And we keep the glock cocked

[Verse 2: SPM]

Set 'em up

Wet 'em up

Etceteras

Tell ya treasura

Empty the regista

Shit serious

I'll give ya life a period South Park Mexican - El Jugador - http://motolyrics.com/south-park-mexican/el-jugador-lyrics.html

Well here he is

The kid with experience

Don't start shit

Mistake me for an artist

Flash in the dark

Someone tell 'em where his heart is

Blue light

Who die?

Tonight

Maybe over two dice

Maybe cause he blew fry

On top of ya

With the Hillwood Mafia

Hard hittin' hustlas

Beat the draws off of ya

Knowledge

While my shit be flawless

Dope House Records step into my office

[Chorus: SPM]

[Lord Loco talking]

It's ya boy Lord Loco

Know what I'm talkin' bout

Representin' that H-Town wit my boy SPM

There's a lot of frauds out there know what I'm sayin'

What you think 'bout them fraud ass niggas Los?

[Verse 3: SPM]

Jackin' jaws

I'm packin' balls

Smoke and split

I give mo' gifts than Santa Clause

Wit a cold forty-ounce and a sack of hay

Chug a lug for the thugs who done passed away

Mista da Masta Mystical Mexican Maniac

Competition ha ha

You muthafuckas make me laugh

You a bitch if you hatin' on my Houston hits

I fight devils like you wit a crucifix

Ruthless shit

With a shotty

Take ya body

Gun Kung Fu

Mixed wit AK Karate

I'm sorry but you the past like Atari

As I smoke like Marley

Stay Brown like Charlie

[Chorus: SPM]

South Park Mexican El Jugador (The Player)