Letras: Dom Pachino. Unreleased. Who's The Spanish Kid.

[Intro: Dom PaChino]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Uh, loud and clear, yo, yo, yo, yo

[Chorus x2: Dom PaChino]
Who's the Spanish kid, damagin' shit, leave ya in bandages
Tera Iz Him, Tera Iz Him
You water heads about to splashed upon the canvases
Tera Iz Him, Tera Iz Him

[Dom PaChino]
Who's the Spanish Kid? Damagin' shit, leave ya in bandages
You water heads about to splashed upon the canvases
Talkin' shit, I got my dogs in Los Angeles
We worldwide, a treacherous threat, across the indus'
Make a bad muthafucka vanish, we get a genie
I be touchin' up, on my Spanish, drinkin' Martini
On the Island, stone real off the coast of Puerto Rico
Instant chico long distance shot, it can be lethal to many people
Found, thrown in lakes, capture the great
Even found in bed, bloody wit make, it's all a take
Here's a football, bounce the ball straight, within' my gym
Before I take a slam-dunk, on ya ass, and break the rim
End ya shit, when I fuck +Hardcore+ like Lil' Kim
Battle cat, when I rap, snap tracks just like a pen
Illegal alien, from planets unknown, let me begin
Like the worst verse, smokin' while in ya playpen
Six months old, in the projects, stickin' up men
Rap veteran, don't even ask why I have no friends
Only family, I never liked drivin' Toyota Camry's
Only German cars, Cuban cigars, land in Miami
Wit palm trees and pussy, I'm paid, deserve a Grammy
For my lyrics, contribution, is like I'm spiritual
But don't cross my path, study my math like a ritual
This Spanish individual, blast, career criminal
Camouflage posted at large, just like a liberal
Signs of all kind, sentences just like a sentinal
Convincin' you to pick up the album, and get digital

[Chorus x2]

[Dom PaChino]
Whilin' out in the urban division, rhymin' prism
Razor blade collision, cut wit position, in death or prison
From a lonely stone, a spiritual clone, whichever known
Had you shook by my voice and my tone, over the phone
How that cat feel, leavin' that ass wit broken bones
Try to ignore, I'm hard to pass through like kidney stones
When I zone, wish I got cop copies from out the dome
Nigga, I G.T., and try to find ya ass back home
Rhymin' cyclone, smoke a fuzzy bone wit Capone
In his early years, when he had Chicago sown
Now I'm blowin' out the water, manslaughter in the first quarter
Causin' disorder, to ya tape recorder, track disorder
Win the team championship, Tommy Lasorda
Out of order, snipin' niggaz off roofs like Michael Rappaport
Then blow port, home fort, in the Port of Riches
Sunbathe wit naked bitches, Dom Pachino
They call me Scarface without the stitches, without the stitches..

[Chorus x3]

[Outro: Dom PaChino]
Yeah, yeah, Terrorist shit
The arch nemesis, Dom Pachino
Yeah, yeah, LP shit, nigga
Word up, for my real muthafuckas
All my Puerto Rican muthafuckas, knowwhatImean?
My real niggaz, not them snake muthafuckas, knowhatimean?
Word up.