SPM Diaries

[SPM:]

What's the deal man? We back in this camp

I'm doing this right here off the shot of coffee 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'm gonna flip it like a script at the ?

That's 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 their wives

They wishing I would die as my little 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, or I'm Latino

Bitch you're a Mexican, say that shit

Why the fuck is you acting scared to represent?

[Chorus x2:]

Everytime the wind blows I reach for my heat

Peace to Sambo 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 what's 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 your 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 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 pusher, run 'em like Alaskan huskys

And still smoke the finest, right by the trust SKS

Bring it to your chest

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

[Chorus]

[SPM:]

Everybody gather round the fire, blow like a dryer

I'm gonna run a little something by you

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, you no te quiero

Puro AK-47, you 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