Verse One: B Real Sipping on tequila with Sheila no doubt I'm bringing her on Keeping her warm leaving her heated like Tiger Balm In the hot sun city of Mexico it's a pity My committee of witty niggas ain't with me to get gritty Rhymey as fuck on the track snappin your head back Get the medic cause a victim from my nigga Joey Crack Stomping the wax niggas spittin on wax Giving the facts, beginners lack the methods of kicking wicked records A second of time switch, as styles piles up Mountains of various flows to rile up Now what you wanna do, nigga? Tequila sunrise, nigga! I'm coming to town with my bigger boogie down figga It's the live shit, do you think you can survive it? When you decide it, leave it to me and Joe can provide it Cracking open the golden, holdin the bomb load While records are selling singles, my albums are getting sold Kicking the universal, never commercial techniques Bang in the clubs, bang in the jeeps, bang in the streets
Chorus: Tequila Sunrise, bloodshot eyes Realize we're all born to die So get the money, nigga! (repeat 4x)
Verse Two: Fat Joe Now I'm back for the new year, yeah, I volunteer Sources pioneer, millionaire status here I never had no fear sellin records I resurrected on my third, that's my word, it's a high selection And everybody know standing near me, I'm dangerous like Shannon Greary Making the whole planet hear me You feel me? I'm on my road to the riches With hoes and bitches fulfilling my goals and my wishes My flows is vicious, but showin' niggas since the early 90's Where Onyx at? Niggas rockin' both easy 'round a grammy Don't mind me, I just call 'em how I see 'em Most these rappers is actors living off per diem Me? I'm on my own shit, nothing but gold hits Claimin the throne with my thuggish ruggish Bone clique On the phone-flip, talking to B He scooped me up in the six, we 'bout to hit overseas, what!
Chorus
Outro (each overlapping the other)
B-Real: That's right, we hitting you with the L.A./Bronx connection Soul Assassins, Terror Squad family All up in your dome... ha! That's right, Soul Assassins style, Cypress Hill IV Knocking on your door for the ninety-eight That's right, eat the worm, motherfucker
Fat Joe: Yeah... Terror Squad, Soul Assassins B-Real, Joey Crack... wha-wha-wha-what! Ugh! Puttin' it down, nigga! East coast, West coast And it's all the same, hahahaha... yeah, yeah
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