Artist: Dom PaChino (a.k.a. P.R. Terrorist) Album: Dom PaChino: Unreleased Song: Who's the Spanish Kid? Typed by: CnoEvil@Wu-Lyricz.Com [Intro: Dom PaChino] Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Uh, loud and clear, yo, yo, yo, yo [Chorus 2X: 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 2X] [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 3X] [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..