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Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: 16 Men Till There's No Men Left
Ladies and gentlemen
We would like to present to you
a group that is simply just marvelous, just marvelous
Ladies and gentlemen, Cypress, Hill
[B-Real] 16 men on a dead man's list
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
Verse One: B-Real
So many fuckin emcees claim supremacy
on whose got hip-hop locked, it could never be
one who is solo, runnin the whole game
That's bullshit, like cops never sniffed cocaine
But I'm taking on all comers, droppin bombers
Reducin numbers, makin it hot like the summer
This, one emcee he couldn't deal with the skill
Like Jack did Jill, I rolled his ass down the Hill
Beaten broken and coughin and chokin on the rhyme
like a hooker, suckin a dick for the first time
His, rhyme was hollow with no flow to follow
Bust a nut, all in your mouth, and made him swollow
I take 16 emcees, lock em in a room
Make em feel the contact, eatin the mushrooms
Playin with your mind, makin you feel the Force
Had to cancel out, two punk niggaz up in The Source
Tried to get XXL, they still fell
Bitches go tell your troubles to Montel
[B-Real] 16 men now there's 13 left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
[B-Real] 16 men now there's 13 left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
Verse Two: B-Real
I'm trippin on the people controllin the airwaves
Got it goin on, you know it all, but God save
your ass for clashin with the Soul Assassin
That's like Mike fuckin with Poppa Joe Jackson
Ass-whoop all over the place, you can't hide behind
the physical, better run to the spiritual
Ass-whoop critical, or you can get it
from the lyrical, bitch-made niggaz are invisible
Dysfunctional, hypocritical, smile in your face
The fuckin cynical shit brains
As I sit back and say, TALLY-HO!
One of these days your punk ass gonna go
Guess you had a key to figure the fuckin flow
but you're locked out, and the bomb's about to blow
[B-Real] 16 men let me see who's next
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
Verse Three: B-Real
Twelve punks to go, who's next on the list
Matter of fact I got one in my head to fix
There was one particular fool in the circle who fell off
Greed overcame the nigga who at all costs
changed up to gain it all, but shared none
Who made him all the money to overcome?
Niggaz up on the Hill, in the lab
He was rollin big balla style, high profile
Oh child, make me wanna act juvenile
All smiles, right in my face, but wait a minute now
Welcome to the 360, degrees
Pay a fee when you fuckin your people over the cheese
No soul, no conscience, no loyalty
to the niggaz who got him treated, like royalty
Aiyyo time's up, you're gonna end up seein visions
of everybody, you fucked over, you're Scared Sober
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho them niggaz has gotta go
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho them niggaz has gotta go
Verse Four: B-Real
Fuck the hater with the symbol and no soul
And that bitch nigga who stole my car stereo
Trick Deez, gets no love, she gets nuts
like Ass Miller, and that fuckin ex-dealer
Can't forget the nigga who was down with the Hill-a
And that punk who tried to dip into the squealer
You get bucked like C. Tucker and Will Bennett
Let me step, over the hump, and represent it
You go down like Jerry, and get smacked
like Trick Leo, now here's your fuckin eulogy-o!
[B-Real] That was 16 men now there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo
[B-Real] 16 men now there's no one left
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo
Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: (Goin' All Out) Nothin' to Lose
[B-Real]
I got nothin to lose, I'm goin all out
The deuce never stop, I refuse to play by the rules
Uptight, when you steppin into the night, right
Pigs comin up and shinin the bright light
Nothin better to do, than fuck with the pride
when you hide behind your badge, your gun and ride
Billy club show me no love, think you above
all the fuss and the locs is rushin in too close
Let me lay it on the table, forget stable
Freak niggaz, comin to slay to the label
You got nothin to lose, come on choose
Stay away from niggaz that bring down your crew
Whatever it takes, you make or break yourself
with the wealth or the chance to stay in good health
Sword blade swingin you back off away
and the track off the real, straight off the Hill
What the deal motherfucker?
Chorus: B-Real, Sen Dog
I got nothin to lose (I'm goin all out)
Nothin to lose (You gonna fall out) Time run out
(I'm goin all out) Nothin to lose (I'm goin all out)
Lightin the fuse to the bomb (better run out)
Nothin to lose (I'm goin all out)
Nothin to lose (You gonna fall out) Time run out
(I'm goin all out) Nothin to lose (I'm goin all out)
Lightin the fuse to the bomb (better run out)
[Sen Dog]
I'm goin all out, showin y'all what I'm about
Gettin in your mental, knockin niggaz out
Takin this pencil, across the brain
Ain't stoppin there til the rhymes all drained
all out my system, take em, and then I twist em
Put em out one day and see, who wanna diss em
As you fold I'll sting ya, run up and you bitch up
Y'all get the picture, just call Mr. Excitement
Comin with the thunder and lightning
Shit is quite frightening how niggaz keep biting
So I keep the writing, down for the fighting
Cold with the flows, they both quite exciting
And let me take space up, heat your face up
I'm goin all out, before the raise up
Chorus
Come on, come on
[B-Real]
I'm goin all out, nothin to lose, you better roll out
Sold out, niggaz be livin in times run out
In the present smell the prescence of what you stressin
You get sent a lesson ain't missin the point blessin
Expression, feelin the tension over the session
The question, fillin your body with intention
Don't mention the profession, keep adressin
The real motherfuckers in the crowd pay attention
I'm goin the fuck out, Smith and Wesson
You better stall me out, no extension
Only the strong will ever be settin the pace
When you look up I'm gone and never left a trace
No worries, set you with flurries and no juries
Eight million stories in the city of furies
Don't get the twist, you listen or get the fist
I got nothin to lose so I gat fools with this
Chorus
[Sen Dog]
Oh yeah, Cypress Hill massive once again
Comin to your record shop
Check this out, we ain't takin no prisoners
We choppin heads off
And you steppin at me, you better be goin all out baby
This is war baby, from now until the new m-m-mm-mm-millelnium
Artist: Cypress Hill f/ Barron Ricks
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Audio X
"T-Minus 10, 9, 8, 7, 6.. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.. zero!"
(Blast off!)
[B-Real]
Come inside, hello everybody, welcome
Think you better be ready for the battle when the shit goes down
Cause we warring
All you fuckin yellow comets runnin from the front line
If anybody wanna get away hey
I'll find your fuckin ass in due time
Run and seek shelter but you never will escape
Flippin over the gate, cause you can't wait
to get your fuckin ass away
But you're trapped, and there's no way out of this musrhroom cloud
But you never wanna realize that I'm planted
in your mind now
Cypress Hill compound, you could hear the sound
Let another motherfucker run up
and I'll put your ass down (down)
Then I'll peal from your cap the Cypress Hill star
Quick look around, you can't hide
You just might die right where you are
Chorus: B-Real
AUDIO X...We gonna your blow your head up (up)
Synthetic flows, they gonna make you get up
Give me any record and I'll flip it any style
Niggaz can't help it, cause they bumpin the shit loud
[Barron Ricks]
Aiyyo whasup kid, feel the rush, glad you kept in touch
With these niggaz who be puffin on the Dutch
Bustin guns, lay back in the cut
Can it be, it's just a dream when you're on your scene smokin the green
Cause ain't shit never what you think it seem
From the streets where life ain't cheap
Cypress Hill, Soul Assassins, while you askin, "Who dat rappin?"
We get all up inside your grill, with the skill
Shoot to kill when it's time for action
See you can't hide, from this homicide, that ain't no lie
Better kiss that black ass goodbye
when you try to play these wiseguys
So who's complainin when we intensify the levels on the ryhme
You better get ready for the battle when the shit goes down
Because we are the wild
Chorus
[Barron Ricks]
"Audio terrorists
Mic specialists
About to blow this
Blast off"
[B-Real]
Lookin in your eyes, I see your body bag figure
Better be ready for the battle when the shit goes down
Cause it's on nigga
What you wanna do, you better pay close attention
Let it be known, I control the zone
beyond your comprehension
Blunt session, you feel the tension begin to rise
Fuck and feed him, if they can't take a joke
and get high
I'm feelin lye, in my lungs, what the deal bro?
So many people wanna hit my joint
but they never got none
Imagine that bullshit, happens all the time
Niggaz better start growin they own
They cannot fuck with mine
Give me any record and I'll flip it any style
Beginners better run back to the lab
and practice for a while
Chorus
[Barron Ricks]
"This has been another AUDIO X explosive
Blast off!"
Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Dr. Greenthumb
[a short skit opens the beginning of the song]
Hello, I'm Dr. Greenthumb
Have you ever had the problem of running out of weed
and just can't find some anywhere?
Well try my Dr. Greenthumb grow tips
I'll show you how to grow inside and out
From seed to clone, and the best homegrown
And if you're afraid of those pesky pork choppers in the sky
No worries, we'll fix them too
with one of our Dr. Greenthumb 'Sizzlean' screens
to block the nosy pig's vision
Don't believe me?
Just ask one of my many satisfied clients here Jed Sanders
how well it works
Hyuh, hyuh, hello mah name is Jaid
And ahm a farmer and I've been growin
mary-jah-wana fer about twenty years and uhh
uhh, with Dr. Greenthumb's 'Sizzlean' screen
I don't hafta point my shotgun
at them pesky porkers no more
Thanks Dr. Green, you're tha shit
Yes, Dr. Greenthumb's got it all, I guarantee it
Try my book and you'll have the chronic in no time
*lighter flicks* Dial 1-800-713-GROW
*inhaling noise* That's 1-800 *cough cough* *inhale*
*lighter flicks* 713 *cough cough*
G *inhale* R *inhale* O-W
"Hello Dr. Greenthumb, paging Dr. Greenthumb!"
[B-Real]
Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
I'd like to tell you just where I'm from
In the hills where the trees grow wild with weed fields
The fucking pigs with shields holding the blue steels
Greenhouse effect with the weed connect
(Doctor) DEA can't keep Greenthumb in check (Doctor!)
HPS, God Bless the whole crop
Please God, don't let me see no cops
Trunkload, ready to hit the highway
Don't let the eye in the sky fly my way
or we gonna have big trouble, that's no shit
Can't be growin without no permit
but fuck that, I study the 215 trip
That way when they come they can suck my dick
Weed can't grow without attention
Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
Chorus:
[B-Real] Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
[SenDog] Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb!
[B-Real] I'd like to tell you just where I'm from
[SenDog] Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
[B-Real] Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
[SenDog] Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb!
[B-Real] I'd like to tell you just where I'm from
[SenDog] Aiyyo Dr. Greenthumb, come on back one time!
[B-Real]
People can't live without the herb man
If not they'd be drinkin and drivin and swervin
but thanks to Dr. Greenthumb weed grow
in the backyard or inside with hydro
To the cush plant brushin a tangerine dream
Tasty, blowin a fuckin smokescreen
Cycles of weed are constantly grown
Somebody give me the razor to cut groves
I'd like to stop, but it feels so good
Horny plants stinkin up my whole neighborhood
Sticky angel, I wanna leave it alone
but never ever ever gotta worry from my home
What that funny sound knockin at the door (Open up it's the DEA!)
Sorry Greenthumb can't talk no more
Please don't follow me into the sun
Hello my name is Dr. Greenthumb
Chorus 1/2
[B-Real]
Out from the lab, no need for rehab
If I can't drive then call me a cab (ese!)
In my closet the weed is dried out
Like Eiht said, ain't no place to hide out
I don't wanna buy no weed from no cop
Get knocked up and they close up my shop
That's why I buy no weed from no one
That's why they call me Dr. Greenthumb
The scientifical, mystical one
Growin my crops with the rays of the sun
Come one come all and see how it's done
If you see the pigs there's no need to run
Cause some of these pigs are down with Greenthumb
But you never know what be the outcome
You see the photo in the album
The weed is growin like my erection
Look I never told you where I was from
Some call me Real, but I'm Dr. Greenthumb
Chorus
Dr. Greenthumb
Doctor, your Bulova plant needs special tending to
Doctor, we need more oxygen we need more CO2
Doctor, Dr. Greenthumb you're needed
Doctor, dahyahahahhh... Doctor
Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Dead Men Tell No Tales
[B-Real]
Pam Pa Ra Ra (4x)
Any die, if the beholder the soldier begins to bore
Four score, seven bullets (Yeah hit the floor nigga!)
Take you outdoor, darkness frightens you even more
I'm here to enlighten you, with the hardcore
Bring it raw, like the red, dead meat, in your plate
And I'll fill you up with the energy the Hill create
I gets sticky, like a green bag of the bomb diggy
Now I'm fuckin with your head, and you realize that it's tricky
Got you paranoid, feeling the void, you can't take it
The reward bein destroyed, freakazoid toy
With ya mind, all styles deployed, you find danger
in the stranger's eye, the killin comes second nature
Your battle filled up the mind it's fallin out, hear you callin out
for help, and all the fuckin yellin to is yourself
Crawlin and beggin for mercy means nothing when you bluffin
I'm pushin the button and straight dumpin on fools frontin
[Sen Dog]
Boo-yah!... come on, motherfucker
[B-Real]
Pam Pa Ra Ra (4x)
WAR pigs, you dig, see kickin out Mr. Big
Take a sip of wine, engage in a battle of the mind (Checkmate motherfucker!)
You feelin the force, meant for remorse, right from the source
Your head is, gettin fucked and I'm skippin the intercourse
Behold, the Mic Horse, you're takin a loss nigga
Got the Nina Ross, don't need no cross, my fuckin paper
chaser green bag gladiator, terminator weed germaniator
The greater the risk you fuckin hater
Hit you with the pyscho beta, clickin the fader slow
with the Hi-Lo, servin the blow, who got the glow
Dead men tale no tales, you fail to see the reason
I'm easing to squeeze the trigger, go figure, it's killin season
[Sen Dog]
Nighty-night, mothafucka
[B-Real]
Pam Pa Ra Ra (7x)
Artist: Cypress Hill f/ Barron Ricks, Chace Infinite
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Feature Presentation
[Barron Ricks]
My flows most beneficent, most merciful, outrageous
for wages, vibrate niggaz heads like pagers
Too hard to handle son, we animals, biohazardous
Ghetto evangelist, lyric distortions, abortions
of fortune shit, shittin on your ASR-10 Sequence
Fuckin up the disc
These be the words blow niggaz acoustic nerves
when I swerve I'm bustin adjectives and verbs at curves
Hear the thunder then I melt the frozen tundra, sank Titanics
Crack solid granite, initiate global panic
Harlem got me branded, rhythms jingle like bricks
These niggaz face it or face off, give up or break North
My lines petrify your mind's third eye, when I'm high
I pull the trey in your insides, I strike blindside
Rip inside, my syllables simmer for every criminal
in prison whose an individual lose that struggle
My stories burst niggaz bubbles, make new niggaz mumble
Ready to shed blood up in the jungles
Aiyyo we livin it, magnficent
Cypress, worldwide!
[B-Real]
I take the micraphone cord, use it as a rope
to hang all the weak rappers for leavin the bullshit they wrote
Counterfeit fools all in the pot, let em boil
When we go platinum they go, aluminum foil
The worldwide clicks and the parties with no parties
Cause niggaz'll get you quickly like the skin off a blunt
when they get burned and smoked, put out and used up
Niggaz don't know how to act when they lit the fuse up
Abuse them up, usin the nut, I'm usin buck
Fearin of the shit, that's covered the script, deliver cuts
Cypress Hill, Soul Asassins, all up in the club
Showin love to everyone of you real niggaz
Cause the hip-hop's pumpin through the blood in my veins
like a junkie, fuckin with 'ron and cocaine
Slay you both down, better hold down or get clowned
by the world renowned, Cypress compound!
[Chace Infinite]
Heavy artillery rap niggaz attack from both sides
of the map, leave you flat on your back, my thoughts dwell
in the dark black abyss, Chace Infinite kicks
rhymes over rhythm and spit hot flame from his lips
I represent, the cream of the earth, bless his birth
My order in the elements in the universe
My mental enter your physical frame, penetrate
like pushin your face straight through a window pane
with twenty bars, I'm sinister God, administer pain
to your paragraph it ain't hard, see I studied the life-science
for years in this, doin songs with my indigineous
peers n shit, hit you with the omnipotent gland
The benficient stare, write a rhyme to shine light
in your ear, don't make a move that'll end your career
Stand clear, I stand firm on solid ground
Pump Blood Sweat and Tears, verbal architect, engineer
Shiftin your ear, to Cypress Hill, you wack niggaz
caps is peeled, the scientific Soul Asassin
We dominate tracks and thrash in the front lines
Soldier ready for action, rapid fire rappin
Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: High Times
Now this some baaad weeed...
B'Real:
The very first time I hit the weed I was young
Coughin up a lung, high strung, back in '81
Goin to school, hittin the buddah behind the bleachers
Comin to class high, sellin the lye to the teachers
Nickel bag, nickel bag, dime to a nickel
Sellin joints to the honeys suck it like an icicle
Others wanted the 40 but I wanted the weed
While everybody was runnin out, I was plantin my seeds
Homegrown, backyard boogie, I'm still stoned
Got my weed plants taller than your telephone's corner
I can remember when I could only get sess in those days
Now I'm rockin that chocolate thai, skunk and the haze
Roll a fat one, pass it to the left don't front
But I hate it when they don't take the seeds out the blunt
A bunch of blunt-rollers are like rookies on the field
Spillin the weed plant fuckin dookies with no skill
I should write a book, how to roll it then pass it
Light it, grow it, sell it and then divide it
Mr. Greenthumb, Dr. Weed, I proceed to give the herb man what they
need
True indeed, blow your fuckin smoke up in the sky
And get high with your bong or your philly or dutchess give me a light
Chorus:
Grab the weed up, pack it in, put it in the pipe
Light it up, smoke a bowl, we puffin the lye right
Put your finger on the hole and hold it in brother
Take a puff, that's enough, and pass it to another
Get the weed sack, smoke it up, til it's all gone
No roaches up in the ashtray, smoke up all the bomb
I usta spend money but now I'm growin the crops
But I hate it when the pigs throw a raid on the spot
It was once said I smoke so much weed, by a brother
That I look like the nigga on the zig-zag cover
Maybe I usta look like that way back when
When my nigga Sen Dog was around sippin on the Hen
Let the fly rhymes smother you with the scent of the skunk
We got the High Times cover shows you how to roll a blunt
Quarter pound, quarter pound, pound to a quarter
Makin trips to Mexico runnin down to the border
Long hairs, bald heads, dreads and punk rocks
Kids of all colors be puffin it down the block
I got the weed on lock with all the hydro methods
Call me Puffy cause I makin and takin a hit record
Blow your fuckin smoke up in the sky and get high
With the bong, philly or dutchess, give me the light
Chorus
Artist: Cypress Hill
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Checkmate
[Sen Dog]
Bout to mash these niggaz man
Don't come in my backyard motherfucker
Hahaha, B-Real and the DOG, motherfucker!
Ha! Yeah
Here we go y'all, that's the nigga head dog
Lunatic smokin loops, loose in your sector
Got my eye on em, on the apparatus
like a bone to a dog, yea you know I gotta have it
Anywhere you get it shit, and I'ma grab it
Turn around stares to your face and I jab it
Drop you, like one of those ill bad habits
Hunt you, like a hillbilly huntin a rabbit
Cuttin niggaz up like Muggs on the wheels
for reals, penetentiary steel
Pull heads to bed from the choke of a headlock
Fadin baldheads to perms, even dreadlocks
BWOY, rudebwoy with me style
I can get foul or wild, or just cool for a while
Chorus: B-Real, Sen Dog
(Checkmate fool!) Hang em high
Got the live shit, bang em whenever you/he wanna try
Shoot to thrill, be at the Hill, I/we take em all
(Checkmate fool!) Wherever the pawns fall
* repeat 2X *
[B-Real]
Look look punk, every way you get shook
To the pawn, takin out the rook, off of the book
Lights get tooken, taken you for Satan
You can't breathe, no need to look up and see me
The last hope, when you mellow you call whoever
For the hype shit, you call the Hill, put it together
Runnin this game, bringin the same, raw shit
Over the hills, through the city we come equipped
to the letter, keepin your temperature down low
What I reveal, the good shit to heal all souls
Makin you roll late night, you trippin, my game's tight
To the new shit I bring, never the same hype
so PUSH THAT SHIT OFF, get up, don't let off
No matter how much blood you spit up
You could never be, fuckin with Greenthumb
The outcome's specific, you spliff it, collapsed lung
We hit hard, breakin your guard, you can't tell
when the bells ring, bustin your shell, the pawn fell
Chorus
(Peek-a-Boo, you fuck you!)
[Sen Dog]
I'ma freak that funk yea slam it in the trunk
I'ma kill all junk with the suicide clunk
Ain't nobody came my way, talkin bout
the Westside of L.A., so whatever
punk-ass click you claim, you keep bumpin that shit
and elevate your frame, cause I want that
big-time, asshole, studio gangsta
Worth a lot of shit, but that's not the main factor
[B-Real]
My nigga Sen's rollin again, remember when
we rocked shows, battlin foes, the time's been long
Strong with the styles, you ain't hear to win
Like blood pourin out of the pen, the ink stains
Slim chance if it gets in your brain, the hot flash
got you heated with repeated attacks over the tracks
Smack niggaz up, back niggaz up, hack niggaz up
Jack niggaz up, hangin the wack niggaz up
Snowball effect, we rollin the city limits
Crushin the bitch-ass niggaz with all the gimmicks
Chorus
[Sen Dog]
Checkmate fool!
Artist: Cypress Hill f/ Barron Ricks
Album: Cypress Hill IV
Song: Steel Magnolia
Attendant: "That takes a fourteen shot clip
You expecting an army?"
Serpico: "No....just the division"
[Barron Ricks]
"Yeah, once again, (that's right)
We about to attack this
(Harlem Inc, Murder Inc) Yeah
(Nicky Bond)
Jimmy Cagney type shit, Nicky Santoro
All my little short niggaz
Joe Pesci and all that shit like this yo"
Fillin out the cards to your eulogy
Murder that ass, send my regards to your family, fuck it
That's what niggaz get for fuckin with this maniac depressive nigga
with aggresion, Smith and Wesson, in his possession
Harlem got me like that, too many grimy, slimy niggaz on the take
For short cake, we won't hesistate
I miss inhabitants who politic in residence for presidents
Across 110th, to 55th
My covenant is protected, I'm doministic
Survival principles my ethics, eastern philosophy's my method
Good samaritans need paremedics, so what's your premise
I hope you fuckin with Glocks and fo' fifths
Wrath's Napolean, so teach your origin, slash wrists
Shatter chins, and bust clips
Check it, "here is somethin you can't understand"
Steel Magnolia
[B-Real]
I got the steel magnum, braggin, leavin my toe tagged
As I get raggamuffin, no bluffin, the body bagged
Breaks all your bad habits, bad blood fanatics
Clean up the magic, chrome startin up static
Greed means that you die quick, click the vision
Greed lies anmbition, five slugs for the mission
Seven cause you go to the heaven or hell and dwell
to meet your maker, but you met the shotgun shell
Buckshots sting like bees, I smoke trees
on the hilltops, clubshops and chilling overseas
Take in the breeze, Mr. Freeze squeeze the trigger
Killa G's got you week in the knees, to take it ea-sy!
[Barron Ricks]
Steel Magnolia
Magnificent guns bust when 'Uzi Weighs a Ton'
And yo' Glock spits, consecutive rounds shot from clips
spells murder, sound synonymous to burner
Leave niggaz ass up, gaspin for air, front seats of truck
So who the fuck want me to press on they luck, bastard they son
When gats start to hum and whole crowds begin to run
Annihilation, destroyin all expectations
Have relatives embrace your Harlem hopital, we all patient
5 foot 6, concealed steel, pop more grip
With fixed sights that drifted to right, triggers light
So relinquish son, I'm to the finish, and you acknowledge
Couldn't pop a clutch or light a skyrocket, nigga stop it!
Steel Magnolia
[B-Real]
Steel Magnolia, bury ya, six niggaz carry ya
To your final rest area
What you worried though, you ain't above that with a slug
And your chest beats, blowin out your back, take it easy
To your eulogy, open heart surgery
Emergency, 911, come in a hurry
From the Hills to the Polo realms, stackin the bills
I put you under my lo-lo, hit my switch, then kill
A bitch nigga steppin on my toes, fuck foes and hoes
Get stuck in the ass like Pete Rose
I suppose you wanna get wild and throw blows, you chose
to get you nose your broke, in a thick cloud of smoke
You're like a fat joint, I'm takin a toke, I'm like coke
But you ain't smilin, feelin erratic, a fuckin addict
To the dope shit, you better hope the shit stop
Smooth, holdin the Glock, rockin the hot shit
[Barron Ricks]
Steel Magnolia
Steel Magnolia
Steel Magnolia
Steel Magnolia
Artist: Cypress Hill f/ B Smooth
Album: Cyrpress Hill IV
Song: Tequila Sunrise
Intro: B-Real and Sen Dog
B-R: Pa' la salud! (to your health!)
SD: Pa' la salud! (to your health!)
B-R: Primero yo... (me first...)
(gulp)
B-R: *grrrrrah!*
B-R and SD: *mexican yells*
SD: Cometelo! (eat it!)
Verse One: B Smooth
Word up, Tequila style... eat the worm
(overlapping intro's end)
Tequila spice, hot nice
Milling rice, sipping on Jose Cuervo
Down in Tiajuana, Mexico
Thinking of the big score the night before
Met the connect, who was impressively dressed
In high fabrics
With troops like Babe Ruth, up on the mezzanine
Brandishing sub-machine guns, aye-yo
It's all about the money, son
Now that's the only reason
We came south of the border, to complete this work order
We gotta get it, no looking back, going all out for it
Ready to attack, die in a minute flat for it
As God is my witness, we got ditches
for all you motherfuckin fake bitches
It all boils down to the business
Nothing personal, when niggaz acting like they helping you
I fuckin blast you like Frank Castle, motherfucker!
Chorus
Tequila Sunrise, bloodshot eyes
Realize we're all born to die
So get the money nigga!
(repeat 2x)
Verse Two: B-Real
I never knew money like this, in the palm of my hand
'Til I met the man with mad hook-up, and big plan
Every where you look'a, he got everybody shook up
Running for cover, the big bad WOOF, motherfucker
He was like a father figure, show me the bigger picture
Fuck slangin' on the corner, don't let the pigs get you
Not like these fools who don't comprehend
You end up doing a twenty-five bid in the pen
You got that? Getting your cup, I took a swig
The bitter taste of the 'mezcal', free worm shit
Droppin' a lesson, he slapped my face, he said listen
Pay attention brotha, you're my ace, but don't ever question
Just do what I say, and you'll be rich
And keep this in your mind: rats lay in a ditch with no spine
Don't ever forget that golden rule in the game
Cheers, they all know your name, it's like fame
Why, women and money don't mix, like drinking an' driving
Watch those conniving women and keep your eye out
Always be aware of what's around you
They wanna down you, and fuckin clown you
Keep your shit in order the money won't stop
Pretty soon you'll be on top
Chorus
Verse Three: B-Real
Tequila Sunrise, with the bloodshot eyes
My, my, my, how time flies and goes by surprise
My mentor passed on and passed a warn to me, emergency
For my enemies who wanna murder me
Eat the worm, motherfucker, while you burn, motherfucker
Better kill me, don't let me return, motherfucker
Trust no man, cause I'll be back, you understand?
With a plan, and my ace in hand, I want it all
I recall the words from Jesus, you are the Juice
Better go get it, don't let it get to your head, embed it
Let these words stick, you better be ready to die
Now take a fucking sip, caution it, but I never lie
Chorus
(music outro)
