"Land of the Lost"(feat. Marilyn Rylander)
  [First Verse (SPM):]
    He was the son of a dope man, what he saw was what he learned
  He left school, now it's finally his turn
  To rob and steal, but he feels he needs to stop and chill
  Cuz deep in his heart he knows that God is real
  Mama still tries, to open his eyes
  Cuz the way a man lives is the way a man dies
  His father's doin' twenty-five to life
  Cuz the love of money cuts like a knife
  Blinding lights, he doesn't know which way to go
  His best friend just got killed two days ago
  He writes his Dad the first letter that he ever wrote
  A little note, about how bad his heart was broke
  Before the mail, could even reach his jail cell
  The boy was murdered at a neighborhood hotel
  Sellin' wholesale, just like his pop taught him
  Rock bottom, a muthafuckin' cop shot him
    [Chorus (Marilyn Rylander):]
  We always will....
  Remember you...
  We always will...
  Have love for you...
  A taste of life....
  And now your gone...
  You found a life....
  In the Land of the Lost....
    [Second Verse (SPM):]
  They met when they was teenagers, around the tenth grade
  She fell in love, and now he wants to get paid
  He convinced her to work at the buck naked
  And everything she made dancing he would take it
  She got a fake I.D., and a club license
  A second life, that she had to live in silence
  At seventeen, she got the strength to finally leave him
  That's when she met the demon
  It was a cold murder, he made sure that he really hurt her
  Over dumb shit, but he had to take it further
  Circumstances that led to last dances
  She hit the canvas, now she at Saint Frances
  Six o' clock services, feel the nervousness
  Of having to look at death perfectless
  I'm smokin' roaches burnin' the shit out my fingers
  Rememberin' the words of the Church choir singers
    [Chorus]
    [Third Verse (SPM):]
  Another Mexican gangbanger
  Set tripper, wig splitter
  A trigger happy ditch digger
  Itchy finger quick to blast upon a rival
  Vida loca, another word for suicidal
  Same color of skin, but different color rags
  Browns puttin' browns up in body bags
  Every two or three streets is a different clique
  They got no love for themselves so they livin' sick
  For centuries we been fillin' penitentaries
  It's plain to see, we're our worst enemy
  The smartest, most talented of the raza
  Is all dead or doin' time for a fuckin' Tronza
  Geniuses, all dyin' meaningless
  Cuz they can't find a way to break free from this
  Needless to say, the gangsta that I speak of
  G-Love, is layin' in a grave that he dug
    [Chorus (2x)]