Lyrics South Park Mexican – No One To Blame
Text:
Feel this
There’s no one to blame
Sleepin’ on a old couch
Workin’ at the dopehouse
With the people coked out
Eyes lookin’ poked out
Like they saw a fuckin’ ghost
Switch to the pipe ’cause they tired of the bloody nose
Troubled souls comes and lows like a herd of buffaloes
Last week a couple hoes tried to sell they mother’s clothes
Damn, this is quite a drug
I could probably buy a club
Maybe even rims that are so big the tires rub
See, I come from the land of think twice and you’re gone
I seen a young man die with a dice in his palm
It’s a gambler’s life
You bettin’ pieces of freedom
Or the paramedic yellin’, «Kevin, he isn’t breathin'»
Now the dream is defeated and you surrounded by demons
But is Hell like in prison with more Browns than in Cleveland?
Or maybe I shouldn’t ask, I’m holdin’ this cookin’ glass
And plus I know I’m fucked if they bring up my crooked past
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
Quarter chicken roaster, bragger, not a boaster
You would brag too if you had a rollercoaster
Plus a gold toaster
Sign of the low-ster, how you don’t know me?
I’m the thug on your poster
JD the chosen, competition posin’
Rain, sleet or snow, dopehouse isn’t closin’
Front teeth frozen
Diamonds on my toothbrush
Livin’ in the land where they dyin’ for a few bucks
Or ’cause a motherfucker’s mouth needed brake fluid
Wanna see Hell? Bitch, I’ll show you straight to it
Hangin’ out a gray Buick
Killer and a crack chemist
Call me menace ’cause I represent on every sentence
Purple lettuce, medicine
Yeah, I got a weed fetish
Right handed pimp, so I leave your left cheek reddish
Hangin’ with the pedigrees, full-blooded get-it boys
White cake, hard and dry, somethin’ wrong if it’s moist
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
I have been a dopeman since about the late ’80s
Workin’ eight ladies, sucky, fucky, but don’t make babies
Not stone cold but they call me «Rock Hustler»
God is a Glock so I’m not a clock puncher
I do sweep streets and I’m cookin’ little patties
Please drive to the window, I put ’em in a baggie
Rock stars sayin’ «We have marvelous sophists»
And when I lock keys in the car it’s on purpose
My art is a service, why listen to mimics?
Niggas talkin’ ’bout the game and never lived the specifics
See, the bricks is in Civics, it’s not in Sixes with bitches
This is friends killin’ friends, the most wickedest business
At the Kilo Olympics I was the all-time medalist
Only took nine shots and I dropped five elephants
You know ’em for the music but I’m a legend on blocks
Plus the microphone king while y’all pretendin’ I’m not
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
