Cypress Hill

Verse one: b-real

Let me introduce my self
I'm the one who rules the set
So don't you forget
Bad for ya health but ya still be tryin' ta push buttons
But you ain't nothin', no frontin
I bring the level up a little louder
In the clubs, an' the jeeps an' the after hours
Fools on the street wanna feel the funk
Lookin for the 'skunk' that's what'cha want
Ya betta, sit back and let the track flow
Like smoke in ya lungs from puffin' on the indo
Rythems upside'cha brain, can ya hang, can maintain
Can ya feel the funk flowin' in ya veins
Get'cha fix and ya bag of tricks
In tha mix i got the stix and stones a few bricks
I'm gonna hit 'em high
He's gonna hit 'em low
Open up ya mind so that'chu can feel the flow
On, an' on till there all gone
Fools be runnin' but they won't last long

Chorus:

I'm the freaka (8x)

Verse two: b-real

People always wanna get what you got, no matta what
Can't take care of themselves in the big hunt
In the quest for the crown
An' the jewels, and the cheese
Motherfucker please
Enemies wanna plot against me with envy in they hearts
But, i rip their sorry ass apart
In a minute, i can take ya to the limit
Temprature risen, nasal highzen

Verse three: sen dog

Comin' back in with the lows, for the fows
Fuckin' up egos, an' anybody, oppose
The numba one skunk freaka, the cypress hill cliqua
Blowin' a hole in tha speaker
You don't wanna dis the perro, the real one, or the werro
Slangin' rythems through the ghetto
Ya best keep ya ass in cheak
Come on little mutha fuckas betta show respect
An whats next, the big brown takin' ya down
How ya feel (how ya feel punk)
When your sorry ass can't hang with the hill

Chorus: 1/2

Outro: b-real

Can ya feel the effects of the chocolate tide
Nobody even knows how i kick the flow
Slow down, cause ya commin' up too fast
Ya might get smacked down cause ya got no class
[fades out]

You don't want to turn your back on me
When you least expect it
I come with a wicked method
I'm creepin on ya
Now you find your homeboy's
Bleeding on ya
It's the the locote coming out the bote
I got a new jale jacking in the noche
Give me your ferja
In your pocket or they'll carry ya
Off and burry ya in the eastside area
4 and 3 and 2 and 1
The thievery don'nt stop 'til i get done
Sometimes i don't even need my gat
But shit's getting deep and i gotta
Blast back to thievery 1 robbery 1 robbery
Cuz jacking is my hobby
Give me that money, jewelry & your keys
To the five-o outside on deez
Later, out with the 85 mustang
One-time got me on the radar
Trucha! and you don't stop 'til i'm done
Now the puercos got me on the run
You don't want to turn your back on me
When you least expect it, i got your keys
In my possession with my smith and wesson
Taking out all my agression
Check it out =e9s=e9 you're looking
At the jefe
Of that clica with the big bad trece
I teach you a lesson, no question
Get your ass out now you're passing out
When you look at the cuete
4 and 3 and 2 and 1
The roberydon'nt stop 'til i get done
Some niggas do this shit for fun
Now the puercosgot me on the run
From varrio to varrio
Looking for anybody, oh cesario
Hanging out with mario
Looking for a place to hide
Spank got my back over there right
And it don't stop 'til i'm done
Now the one-time got me on the run
One-time's not done with us
Now they're looking for my ride
But i'm on the bus
Don't turn your back on a vacto like me
Cuz i'm one broke motherfucka
In need
Desperate! what's going on in the mente
Taking from the rich not from my gente
Look at that gabacho slipping
Borracho from the cerveza
He's sipping
No me vale, madre
Gabachopray to your padre
This is for the time you would
Give me the jale
4 and 3 and 2 and 1
This ol motherfucker, got him a gun
Bla-on!i took one to the kneecap
Things happened so fast now
I dropped my strap
Now i'm about to meet my maker
I thought i had it all, figured it out
For the paper
No longer will i be running
Last thing i heard was the
Fuckin gat humming

[b-real]:
I neva rapped on an r&b record, and i neva will,
I got these phoney muthafuckas, talk about lets keep it real,
But, they don't know how to take they own advisement,
Going out, do it solo on an advertisement, comecializing
Fuckin' sell out, nigga, this is hip-hop, not fasion,
Get the hell out,
I'm taking out these so called gangsta niggas,
Takin' pictures, modeling clothes for small figures,
And i neva took another fuckin' mc's shit,
And made it my first single, fuck a hit,
Fuckin' hypocrite, you can get the dip, when i lick a shot off,
I'm gonna, and all of it,
It's a damn shame when you got all these fools in the record indistry,
Sellin' out for the fame,
I just sit back and watch thes fools with their gimmiks,
Go down in flames , in the big game,

[b-real:
Zippidey-dooda, i smoke weed and i got brain damage,
But, i don't give a fuck cause i still manage,
To represent to the fullest,
No pop singles, and no actin' foolish,
To the studio gangsta with the articals,
In them magizines with the bitch editors,
Keep it real in the game,
Niggas got no shame,
Now all the executives want all the fame,
Based on the videos, just a gang of silly hoes,
For the fuck-em indistry that's take'n all ya dough,
I neva stole it, stole it all,
Just hard work, and sweat, for them platinum records on the wall,
Fools want me to fall,
I won't cause my roots are to thick and strong, like the chocolate
Tastic,
I hear niggas say no, but, i know they front,
Cause afta they shows they want me to smoke a blunt,
I don't respect a hypocrite, muthafuckas i despise,
Cause me i tell the truth, even when i tell a lie,
All you bruthas in the game run a check,
Cause you get checked fucked off, with no respect,
Muthafuckas

Once again the powers of the herb open up the mind,
Seek deep inside, tell me what you find,
Come on...

[b-real]:
Who be the ones steppin' in the room,
Everybody welcome to the temple of boom,
Back, let me see ya fat indo sack,
And get weeded, somebody, everybody need it,
Mari-juana, mari-juana, do ya wanna,
Give me love when i put the flame on ya,
Homie i'm the one with the shotgun,in the closet,
Next to the fat bags full of chronic,
Puto, don't ya be steppin', with ya hands open,
Askin' me "can i get a hit of what t'cha smokein'",
I aint got no kind of love for a brother,
Who comes to the party, with no bud,
I be smokein' this, indo-blazin', funk buddah,
Everybody, wanted it, now they talk about the hooter,
Up until the summer of '91,
Wasn't no mutha fuckas talkin' 'bout smokein' blunts,
From the west coast to the east coast,
Everybody be braggin',
But , i'm the one who be puffin' most,
First it started with the nickel, then the dime,
Then the twenty, spendin' up all my money,
Now, i roll with the nelco(?),
With the pound in the pad smokein' up the indo,
Just take a deep breath (ahh),
Hit it then pass it to the left,
You can keep the mutha fuckin' stress,
Smoke it up, just puff it up, (o yea),
Light it up, then put your spliff up in the air,

Do you wanna spark another owl?
Do you wanna spark another owl?

Everybody spark another owl.
Everybody spark another owl.

I wanna spark another owl.
I wanna spark another owl.

Do you wanna spark another owl?
Do you wanna spark another owl?

(sen dog)yea, stroll the ways of the buddah mastas, brings me to the
Temple of boom, i see people everywhere startin' to understand the
Point, when i'm talking about the joint, talkin' 'bout that marijuana,
Talkin' 'bout the sense, talkin' 'bout the kind mota boca loa-loa
Maui,maui, lugers of work- ready, mexican greenba, cheeba, cheeba y'all,

Yeska, humble pound weed, the crypt, the choclate tide, the afgani, the
Meefrakan, the indo, the skonka, the bad breath sense (cough).

Hello everyone, i'm kurt loaded, we're here t hemp tv, with
Cypress hill in amsterdam we're listening to there new album, i'm
Stoned, i'm outta here, goodbye folks.

[b-real]
Living in the city of the scandalous
Shisty motherfuckers, can't even trust my own brothers
So who can i choose to trust, me, that's who
Niggas want a piece of the pie, fuck off and die!
Jealous, envious fools want to rush this
Loco, trooping ass nigga with the cash, shit
Motherfuckers just get your own, and leave mine alone
Forty-five places to get done
Send out your invitation
To the party of your elimination
I got peeps that play for keeps, (hardball)
Now i'm laying your ass down to sleep
But every hustler wants to be bawling
But i got the balls for the shot calling
I pull strings, the don king, only in america
Then i hustle, and flex my muscle

[hustlers]
--yeah, man, i've been out here
Running game for eight years
--i know i'm getting tired of standing
On this corner
--nigga, i want a fat pad, and fly ass pool
Finest motherfucking bitches, jewels
And all that shit, if i got to take it
From a nigga
--shit, let him run for me then
--i can work for myself, don't have to
Work for nobody, i'll be my own hustler

[b-real]
Where can i roam to get my hustle on
Killafornia, stacking the chips, got the full clips
Loaded and cocked, i'm used to running with the glock
Nina millimeter, lighting up the fucking block
Now, who you gonna trust?, who can you trust?
I don't know, but if you coming on my corner
I think i'm gonna bust
You can't handle us, devious, dangerous
Criminal mentality, insanity
I move weight, from state to state
All the niggas moving weights, can you relate?

[hustlers]
--damn, what's up, i see you
Pushing that big time weight
--i told you, i wasn't bullshitting
--you coming up, aight!
--when i seen you three or four
Months ago i told you
--got respect for a man now
--handle your shit!

[b-real]
Where can i choose to get my hustle on?
In the alleyway, lighting up all night long
Fuck working at mcd's, i'm rolling with the o.z's
In the qp's, puffing on trees
Who can i trust?, who can you trust?
Not that shady motherfucker in the city los scandalous

[hustlers]
--well, well, little man came up a little bit
--it feels good having money in the pocket
--fuck that nine to five bullshit, right?
--yeah, kick that shit to the curb
--but you got to look out for the scandalous motherfuckers
Cuz niggas is tricky than a motherfucker
--yeah, but motherfuckers got to look out for us too
You know what i'm saying
I'm just as shisty as a nigga
--shit, set me up and niggas are gonna die
--you get set up back, cuz we ain't having that bullshit
--i got your back, you got mine, that goes without saying
--twenty-seven and mo' baby, twenty-seven and mo'
--let's get the fuck out of here"

[capitan pingaloca]
"esto no me gusta. aqui la gente, la gente no sirve pa' mierda. aqui
Yo soy, yo soy capitan pingaloca. y to' mundo aqui, me sirve a mi o va
Pa'l carajo. oye... revolucion compadre!"

[b-real]
In the midst of the madness
No question, who's the baddest
Mcs in the game runnin for the status
Take a few seconds to review the crews
Sittin' on top is the hill lookin' over you
Killa hill niggas
Cleaned in my dream
Cookin' up a scheme
For all them big bank niggas
The world is yours, but it can be mine and his
Bust you out the frame, i don't give a fuck who it is
Number one mission, opposition
Get dumb, succumb and then position
In a casket, best wishes
At the bottom of the lake, sleepin' with the fishes
Full out search for the body
Of the mcs who be comin' to disrupt the party
No wins, no ends, no way
That i'm ever gonna let ya come back again!

[rza]
Check my dramatics
Brains get splattered
Dreams shattered
Sabas get blasted for words he packaged
Beat the sequence
Bravado lessons on his defense
Pile you niggas talkin' fast like puerto ricans
What you seekin'
Son i catch clean like dominicans
Last mohican
Witness i'm speakin, loud as indians, tomahawk
Shaolin slang, the violent talk
Upstate new york
Where chumps get extorted for newports
What you thought

[b-real]
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
The' the' the' then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease back, ease back
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again

[capitan pingaloca]
"y ya esta dicho. todos los que no les guste mi 'rebote' van a morir.
Yo le voy a meter una bala a la cabeza a cualquier maricon, que no me
Persiga a mi a la 'singadapuerta'. oye, hijo puta! quiero quemarte la
Cara!"

[u-god]
Words droppin' chant
The check di slant
I'm taking these cannabis plants
Yo for granted
Exotic narcotic
Tunes slam soon
From a dune
In the desert
Mega-babylon pleasure
Comin' out the domepiece, smell my aroma
Warrior nomad
Put you in a coma
Comma
Llama
Smash-crashin' your armor
Drama
I'm a
Stealth aircraft bomber
Here is where i dwell
At the gates o' hell
It ain't where you're from
It's where you're in the mentals
And if not, yo' credentials
Are essential
I see reality
View things surrounding me
Free like a spread, precise strikes the lyric
Not frontin' or braggin'
Hundred percent red dragon
Pine fragranced lyrics, the rhymes you can't imagine
The globe-trotter, call me meadowlog lemon
Five part criminal, two part felon

[b-real]
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
The' the' the' then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
The' then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease,
Ease back
Ease back, ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger
Then i'm never gonna let ya come back again
Ease back or i squeeze up on the trigger

[capitan pingaloca]
"esta dicho! aqui, la revelacion! no se la ve por television. todos
Los maricones del norte, que los voy a matar yo. va a ser aqui en nuestro
Pais. y todos los 'singamasones', que estan singando un mundo. tambien,
Van a ver la muerte de ellos mismos, lo en las manos de ellos. un dia,
Va a ser sangre, mucha sangre. la peste de los cuerpos muertos, vas a
Oir, que se va a hueler. hasta los estados unidos, estos cabrones, que con
La democracia, que nos 'tan singando en el culo. todos son unos mismos
Cabrones..."

Intro: sen dog

Yeah
Bust how we gonna bounce off this ninety-five soul assassins
Cypress hill joint.
Yo we want everybody out there to throw their hands up...
...so get it on kid!

Verse one: erick sermon

Fresh is the word, when i display my rappin forte
Quicker done than o.j., hey
I freaks my shit, e the lyrical master
Stress me out, no doubt, i might have to blast ya
Let me ask ya, can i gets busy one time?
And unwind and chill, with cypress hill
Huh, i go on with my bad self
I'm the four pound toter, the phil blunt smoker
Believe me not, i'm wicked like three sixes
I'm doper than the pete rock remixes
Never walk through the crowd sluggish
I'm hardcore to the bone, i'm thuggish ruggish
The green-eyed, bandit, i be errrick serrrmon
I gets real determined
And one for the trouble, and two for the bass
I take it to your face with this here lyrical mace
And if you don't know, y'all better recognize
I'm coming through with speed, with pounds of weed

Verse two: b-real

Ahh shit, another one of those gangsta hits
Niggaz wanna get busy with the ultimate
Fools get real, yo i'm representin the hill
With chips and clips and tons of blue steel
So who wants to be the first nigga to die?
Then try and test this, buddha blessed gemini
You get thrown sent home in a coffin
Punk stuff don't make it back, very often
I got erick to take care of the sermon
Ashes to ashes, dust, bodies burnin
Bustin open the doors to the temple
Takin you to the dark side of your mental

Chorus: b-real

Kickin it to the brothers on the corners, in the alleys
Throw your hands in the air
Kickin it to the brothers on the corners, in the alleys
Throw your hands in the air

Chorus

Verse three: redman

I rhyme tricky, the sticky smoka with the mind itchy
Finger up on the pen, be like "he the bomb, dicky!"
These off-keys mc's hawk me, they won't get off me
So i kill em softly and use em as walkie talkies *bzzzzt*
Turn up my level adjust my voice pitch
Hoist this diagnosis, comatosis
Is what i leave your crew with, boom bip or some two and two shit
Raw silk, cuz you do it to my music
*funk doctor spock* lock the hypest
Individual, to put criminal in diapers
With my nigga e and cypress, what i write bitch
You swore, it was a nuclear war, crisis
In your back yard, word to god, def squad!
With my nigga keith in the place takin charge
Word up you'll get hurt up like the jury callin murder
You're deaf cuz i freak shit you neva heard of

Chorus

Verse four: mc eiht

Steppin to the park in the hill you can't hang
The original baby gangsta on this compton thang
Don't slip, the late night hype, is when i dip
Boo-yaa is the sound from a lonely clip
Can't feel me, if i was crack you'd try to steal me
Heard you, and your little crew, wanna peel me
Keep your hands on your hood, you get got
The green-eyed bandit, cypress hill, and the funk doctor spock
You wish you could hang, like i hang
Dwells in the c-p-t, the hood thing
G, the trigga finger, i'ma get you
Hit you, the tech 9, i'ma split you
Ain't no poppin, no stoppin
Tick to the tock, tick tock i hit your block
Throw your hands in the air, don't bite this
I squeeze, nigga please, the e down with cypress

Chorus

Chorus

Outro: sen dog

Aight, for everybody
All our peeps out on the corners
All the alleyways
For all our decesed
Incarcerated peeps, brothers on the streets
Nineteen ninety-five
Soul assassins in your mind