Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Black Tequila, artist - Ghostface Killah. Date of issue: 31.12.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Black Tequila |
| Throw me in a mosh pit, I’m live, will start shit |
| Melt the place then break out like an arsonist |
| Classified to get it for a classic killing |
| If I turn my back and walk, that means I’m chilling |
| Got bitches in mi casa, boiling fresh lobsters |
| But I don’t do the shellfish, I’mma just eat pasta |
| Turkey, Italian sausage, chopped up kielbasa |
| Doing hits from home, like an elite mobster |
| Love my onions iced up, real little, wifed up |
| Gotti trench men is real brittle, Poconos is where I go with the capos |
| Eleven Sammy the Bulls, ready to wake those |
| I’m half black, yo, half oregano |
| That’s half Ital', yo, who he, I’m from that Island, yo |
| Staten, crushing niggas like aspirins |
| Commissioner Kelly, ya’ll kill ya captain |
| That’s word to my bitch that’s laid off |
| That little patch in the pussy, word, I ate it off |
| Team move with hands in the air like Adolf |
| Hand me a big joint, bet I spray it off |
| Toma, toma, mira, big kid |
| Poppy Wardrobe, Poppy Wardrobe, right here, Poppy Wardrobe! |
| Maricon! |
| Yeah… |
| La Cosa Nostra, La Familia |
| What, violate my family ties and I’mma kill ya’ll |
| Mi amor, dami un beso, El Capitan, I’m ghettio |
| Hot sauce, on my Spaghetti-O's |
| Poppy Wardrobe, Mexican, handle a hose |
| All my gutter gang crew, got border patrol |
| Lights on when I come through, black Soprano, what |
| Two in the holster, my code name Darryl |
| Ride off in the sunset, sparking the barrel |
| Long boots on, my horse named White Boy John |
| Ride that side of that bitch, straight Mexican song |
| Ash hanging off the blunt, don’t ever look at me wrong |
| In my heart piece stolen, Julio, I’m dirty |
| Up in the Arizona desert, where the shit get ugly |
| All my Staten Island riders, ride or die honchos |
| Get CREAM all day, leave our poncho |
| We bull fighting niggas, wrestle with broncos |
| And my team stay tight like Silver and Tonto |
| Carry a long whip, ya’ll whip ya ass |
| Hard head Mexican dope, mixed with hash |
| Machete behind dough, with a rip in the slash |
| Desperado kids, me and Ghost, back at last |
| Toma, toma, Poppy Wardrobe |
| Poppy Wardrobe, Poppy Wardrobe |
| Bring it… |
| Yeah, Cinqo de Mayo, imported guns from Cairo |
| Got bagged with the toaster, beat the charge like rhinos |
| This bitch who’s Albino, I met her out in Chi-Town |
| While I was out in Greek town, ordering gyros |
| The bad bitch keep a tool and a bible, quick to murder her rivals |
| And her pops was a gangsta disciple |
| He killed about a thousand vice lords, guns and knife wars |
| The feds came for him, so slick to the night ward |
| Down in the N.O., and right before he left |
| He wrote his daughter a memo, left stacks in the Benzo |
| It got hot, niggas selling, giving out the info |
| He paranoid, every 20 seconds out the window |
| Blow it in the limbo, he spazzed on Lorenzo |
| And smashed him in the head with his own son’s Nintendo |
| About a week later, the boys came and rushed him |
| Kicked down his door, while he sleeping and cuffed him |