The Dope House Mind Lyrics - The Last Chair Violinist - South Park Mexican

I gotta palomino horse with versace saddle 

Ima cocaine cowboy with crops n cattle 

Half dog and jackal pop Don like snapple 

Got my first paycheck when I robbed the randall's 

Flow hot like campbell's change broads like channels 

Two or three at time cuz we all just mammals 

The songs I sample bought my mom a castle 

Bought pops a fuckin non filter box of camels 

Comp soft n fragile get stomped and trampled 

While they bitch in my car tryna bob for apples 

Sport glocks in flannels with the common vandals 

Takin hits off homemade bong with handles 

Its a lawless battle as my toughts unravel 

Pull my gun and like eggs niggaz dodge and scramble 

Still lost in travel and my hearts in shambles 

While the seeds in my weed snap pop n crackle 

[Chorus: x2] 

Who fuks with the rhyme of the dope house mind 

Who shines in the dark in these end of times 

Line after line who keep it the realest 

[Carolyn:] Only u cuz the others to scared to live it 

I do videos with a bunch of pretty hoes 

In a benz wearin K-mart dickie clothes 

Give a toast listen close to dat nigga Los 

When we was hungry Mom would say "Get the fishin poles" 

Really thou back when I sported chilli bowls 

And used to dream about rappin on Jenny Jones 

My city thowed stop actin lik u didnt kno 

Gettin rich n we still screamin "Gimme mo!" 

In the props gotta stay on ya tippy toes 

They tryda kill me few bullets came really close 

Now tha bitch is froze twisted in a wicked pose 

And his toes colda than my Michelobs 

Diggin holes lik ima tryna find some hidden gold 

He got nice shoes, wonda if I fit on those? 

The sickest flows, I got guns dat can kill a ghost 

At the club wearin dead man's Kenneth Coles 

[Chorus: x2] 

Candy blue 5 parka and a moonlight sparka 

Let me tell ya bout the life of a pure white rocka 

A true live balla, might cruise my 'pala 

Or just soak in the sun and take poolside calla 

Its the hood fly talka and if you lik drama 

Ima da rappa dat'll rap ya in a two-ply potna 

With fruit flies gonna my ginsu knife sharpa 

Den dat thang they was swangin at the Luke Skywalka 

Listen boo, I gotta notta screw tight on tha 

Fukin brain that aint been sane since a cute shy toddla 

My new nine's hotta than a july jogga 

Or even me on the news sayin "Oooh hi Momma" 

Neva knew my fatha til I grew quite larga 

But by the I was ten walkin through high water 

Old dude tried harda then a suicide bomba 

Im like "Dad is too late, Ima foo, why botha" 

[Chorus: x4]