Wizard Of Oz Lyrics - The Last Chair Violinist - South Park Mexican

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

It were plain to see since the age of three 

One day dope fiends'll be pagin' me 

I got crunk in the game, niggas knew my name 

Hillwood the place, I gain my fame 

Sixteen in a '77 Seville 

Smoke gray gold trim, big daddy grill 

Back in '86 I was choppin' bricks 

To think a damn paper made got me rich 

I got love for the hustlas in every hood 

But hate in your heart it'll never be good 

I feel blessed but confess, I blow sess for my stress 

It's that Mex with a S on my chest 

None the less I was real with the homies 

With the OZ's running from the police 

No peace, blow sweets on cold streets 

Dope fiends gon' bring a nigga more green 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

My money triple, sippin' ripple, living simple 

Rolling paper squares out a fat ass nickle 

Trick on my dick for the bricks I chop 

Pigs in my mix when they hit my block 

Used to catch a raid 'bout every six months 

Just a check up to see if I'd slip once 

Call it one time, some rhyme 'bout this shit 

I can slide in my sandals but never will I slip 

Under covers hit the set man y'all funny 

Taking them crumbs and giving marked money 

Trying to convict 'em I ain't fallin' victim 

Fool, I know your face and my boys I done hipped 'em 

They want me bad so mad as they burn off 

Fucking with them hoes, now my blunt done turned off 

No other way just another day on the spot 

If you play then you pay, it don't never stop 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

I wrote this book 'bout a hopeless crook 

Living in the land where the coke is cooked 

Where hoes get took and the joke is good 

Where smokers hooked and the soldiers hood 

That lonely wood where his homies stood 

Trying to change myself if I only could 

I'm just your Hillwood hustla street rhyme rustler 

Blowing more smoke than a broke down muffler 

But I'm taking losses 

It ain't easy working jobs with no fucking bosses 

Selling dope is the hardest thing a man can do 

Risking life and your freedom for a buck or two 

Still I feel if you loose control, homie you'se a hoe 

Real G's keep they life on cruise control 

When the police kick door and raid my crib 

I tell 'em pigs of the slippers, that's not what I did 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need 

Now come follow me down yellow brick road 

To easier to see Hillwood hustla, got what you need