South Park - SPM Diaries lyrics

[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 b**h I started comin' up sellin' fat a** 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 b**h you a mexican, say that sh** Why the f** is you acting scared to represent [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 [SPM:] I told you once, I eat you motherf**ers 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 c**a 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