Tekst:
South Park Mexican Other

Cuz I'm a basketball hooper Out-run the trooper I'ma bring home the trophy like Cynthia Cooper Cucaracha in my ashtray a 40 on my lap I sell crack to the Blacks, whites, Mexicans

got my three wishes To rock the world like a muthafuckin' ounce of dope Niggas couldn't see me, even with a microscope I tag cities up, run right through 'em other

like back to back Stay real for life, roll down south For the wreckshop, for the hometown crowd My alias is that Go-Hard-Mexican Flowin' through your

't changed not one little bity-bit to be honest ya'll the ones who really did. Hating me 'cause you live in misery but there is other ways to take your

[South Park Mexican] Stop at the store make my bitch pump the gas And when we get home bitch you fitting to cut my grass In my cutlass, 1982 My baby mama

to ask for a sip of your syrup I used to never walk around with the white cup Now I eat eighteen steaks, on silver plates Girls fanin my face, others

give me a sign That nigga that had murdered you got twisted by Jason Had to tell you 'cause I know that ya'll in different locations Have you seen Lil Lex? the other

things that I asked the Reverend, "Excuse me sir, but can Mexicans go to Heaven?" The other day I spoke to the Reverend, to see if he'd say that Mexicans

[Verse 1: SPM] I'm in da Hill W- double O - D Texas Got three benzes, and quick reflexes I'm a eat me breakfast, with the Mexicans Break dance in my cell