Ihr kennt mich noch nicht alle, und drum stell ich mich mal vor: Ich komm aus Mexiko und hei?' Miguele Matador. Die Madels steh'n auf mich, ich bin der
clothes he wears It's just the hours he's been keepin' Ain't been doing too much sleeping They dyed his hair and hid his feathers And told him he was Latin
saxophone, tambourine) Roy estrada (bass, vocals) Don preston (electric piano) Arthur tripp (drums, percussion) Jimmy carl black (drums) Members of the
money you is talkin' too, much) Yo, yo, yo man, yo we just ciphin' man (...talkin' that, pass the motherfuckin' blunt) I know you Latin shit, burn the
whole world to listen ta Waitin at a red light; kentucky fried chicken and Low end theory tape in; bass crazy kickin and See this puerto rican latin
and music cry to be heard See the white horses ride out on the surf Chicken will gather they live for the day Lifting our spirits in their Latin way
her patrons are dead and irrelevant, yeah Like osteoporosis, she's brittle, she is broken Brittle, broken, yeah [Incomprehensible] Static comes through synthesizers Megaphones and drum
the top Now we make your body rock Motherfuckers [hey!] don?t sit and ponder Coz we come with no blutes, no blunders We keep it fat like Attila the Honda Latin
Dance ! Should I get down on my knees should I dance a latin beat Should I laugh should I get a romantic membership Should I play my conga drums should
the time [L:] Hey Ricky, hey Ricky [R:] Oh Lucy, you're so fine [R:] How I love tyo hear you whine [R:] Hey Lucy [L:] Hey Ricky [L:] You always play your conga drums
a barbed wire fence To keep out the unknown And on every metal thorn Just a little blood of his own She patrols that fence of his To a latin drum And
, raining deep in heaven Dream theater exclusively uses: lbanez korg mesa boogie tama starclassic . Dimarzio sabian d'addario pro-mark dunlop remo lexicon latin percussion yamaha drum
's a bloody mess, there ain't no EMF in sight my thoughts are to leave the slums I hustle with beats and drums not keys and guns My feet are numb, as
is the pestle and mortar that ground the poison seed a lute, a suit for jousting and the poems of a balladeer when all the Latin books were copied
hold - money you is talkin' too, much) Yo, yo, yo man, yo we just ciphin' man (...talkin' that, pass the motherfuckin' blunt) I know you Latin shit, burn