(feat. Cypress Hill)



[Tony Touch]

Well it's the alley cat, puffin on a hoody mack

Some say I'm a titere, but yo I ain't all of that

Hit you wit a baseball bat if you try to ill though

Fuck around you get bucked on the hill bro

Mr. Tony Toca, rollin wit the joker

East L.A. to Bushwick, cosa nostra

Bring it to you bitch ass clicks like we supposed

Cypress Hill in full effect wit the mota

Ain't nuthin changed but the date, so fuck wit jake

Expect me to cut the cake, it's much to late

I'm takin it all, send you to the back of the line

Breakin you off, watchin you react to the rhyme

Me packin the nine, nah that's a whole other game

Cuz if I'm forced to pull out, I'mma blow out ya brain

Yo, what we feel, never go wit the grain

It's Tony Touch and B-Real still goin insane



[Chorus x2]

Mi Vida Loca, get blast

Money moves, you snooze you loose

Punk nigga, you know the rules

We strike first, we hit hard, no regard

And move weight, international, state to state



[B-Real]

Maginifico, here we go, me and Tony Toca

My name ain't Ricky but I'm livin the vida loca

Serial rhyme killa, the paper spinner

Eatin the pussy sup, havin you for dinner

Like a fur tinner, makin you loose it over the years like a winner

I can't abuse like a picketer, I send it a flow, control temper

We into the party, wit bounce and yo go get ya

All this other shit don't really matter

I'd rather be open your grave, relivin my bladder

Ain't nothin sadder, the Mad Hatter

Make a fine cheddar, keep climbin the ladder

You try follow after, I'm sorry to shatter your dream

Splatter your spleens, scatter your teams

Bad as it seems, niggas will follow the beam

Money cream, funny things, happen when you runnin things



[Chorus x2]



[B-Real]

Time to put a little pressure, but the addresser

You get no lesser, microphone finesser

Rhymes go like pressure, and listen never

Whether you gather to go, never become richer

Keep the punk nigga bitch up

Pain change like a woman ass switch up

You rhyme on the mic like you ate a dick up

Mouth full, blown talk, not to hiccup

Pick up your brain off the ground wit the vacuum cleaner

Life's a bitch like Elliott Misdemeanor

I have you ass up wit the sharp cleaver, thru the receiver

Spot it like rhyme weaver, follow the leader

Shit's off the fuckin meter, drum beater

Side reader, while we puffin the cold 'hebba



[Chorus x0.6]



[Tony Touch]

Yeah Mr. Cocotasso, hit you wit a baso

Say hello to my little friend, posa caso

Tato, now that's all she wrote

Muthafuckas think I fell for the okie doke

But you can quote me loke, cuz the joke's on you

Soul Assassins in the house, you better hold on to

Now you can watch these rap niggas just roll on through

Or you can get up and get involved it's on you

U know the rules