Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Cypress Hill Song: Tres Equis Conozco una muchacha y ella es fina Tremendos cocos y tambien ella es linda A veces me la cojo en la cocina Esta muchacha me chupa la pinga Yo le dije dame tu bollo Me dice negro loco tu no eres mi novio A mi me importa un carajo A mi cuarto meterte un palo Por tu culo o por tu chocha Y ya tu sabes que no me importa Y ella me dice suavesito Yo pienso que tu eres bien rico Cuando me toca por mi frente Ya tu me tienes bien caliente Y cuando me tocas por detras Ya tu sabes sin parar Acabe de singar y me levante Fui al bano y me ban~e Sali del cuarto y me esperaba Con los ojos negros y bonita cara Pongo mi camisa y mi pantalon Se ria y me dice, "Negro sendenton" Estaba fina Esta muchacha estaba tan pinga Hay! cuando se lo meti Cuando se lo meti, grito, "papppi" Estaba del carajo brother No olvidate olvidate Nunca habia singao yo como singue esa vez Estaba fina Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Cypress Hill Song: Stoned is the Way of the Walk (Chorus) Stoned is the way of the Walk, Stoned is the way of the Walk, Verse 1 ( B-real) Well, it's the Alley Cat puffin' on a hootie rat, Some think I'm a criminal, But, yo I ain't all of that, Hit'cha with the baseball bat, An' ya wanna ill though, Wanna mess around , You get fucked on the hill bro, Kick it like a steel toe, real slow, Hits from the bong , Make me feel like Cheech, And I'm kickin' it wit' Chong, Just like Cheech & Chong frontin' with "Ice Cream", Cypress Hill is here to give you a nice dream, Speak it like a rolla', and you know it's rolled tightly, I'm like the funky beat, so, why ya tryin' ta fight me, Pigs often site me, that's not polite G, And any hour of the day ya know I might be, Harassed by a pig real fast, They wanna Rodney King me, Always tryin'a crown my ass, Ain't got no class(Sen Dog: No Class) I hit they' ass like the buddah thats stinkey, They wanna' scruff but, they' just so rinky-dinky, I'm the freaka, the one who freaks the funk, Sen gotts the Philly, an' he's gonna light the blunt, Sippin' curfew makes me go koo-koo, somthin' like loco then turn in to this loocoo, Binggin the beta,yea, now the funk is risen, Got the beta bass and the nasal highzen, As I kick atrip, it comin' straight from my siness, Crazy nasal vocals, cannot make the hotties loco, I rimemba sista Maggie, breast were kinda saggy, Used to sell me buddah outta fucked up little, Honeyd up a twenty even when I had no money, She said "Pay me back with some latin dick Sonnie" Well I neva' went out, and I don' thnk I'm gonna, Just for some buddah, she wanted me ta bone her, Deminin', Ya think ya meanin', I got somethin' for the hoes ta be skeamin' on, I'm the Buddah-Real take a trip ta hoota'ville, I'll throw ya out the door, of my big blue Siville, Then light another joint, This ain't no exploition (poin't), Cause we are the ones stonein' in the ways of the mastas, Stoned is the walk, Stoned is the walk, Stoned is the walk, Stoned is the walk, (Sen- Dog) Hit they, hit they ass, (B-Real) make the buddah get stinkey Wooooo, Woooo (Alas, Cap'in there's a ship in sight, Huhu, Blast 'em!) Stonend is the walk, Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Cypress Hill Song: Pigs This pig harassed the whole neighborhood, Well this pig worked at the station. This pig he killed my Homeboy, So the fuckin' pig went on a vacation. This pig he is the chief, Got a brother pig, Captain O'Malley. He's got a son that'a a pig too, He's collectin' pay-offs from a dark alley. This pig is known as a Narco, If he's a pig or not, we know that he could be. This pig he's a fuckin' fag, So all his homepigs they call him a pussy. Well this pig he's really cool, So in this class we know he rides all alone. Well this pig's standin' eatin' donuts, While some motherfuckers out robbin' your home. This pig he's a big punk, And I know that he can't stand the sight of me. 'Cos pigs don't like it when ya act smart, And when ya tell 'em that your a group from society. This pig works for the mafia, Makin' some money off crack. But this little pig got caught, So when he gets to the Pen it's all about the pay-back. 'Cos once he gets to the Pen, They won't provide the little pig with a bullet-proof vest. To protect him from some mad nigga, Who he shot in the chest and placed under arrest. An' it's all about breakin' off sausage, Do ya feel sorry for the poor little swine ? Niggas wanna do him in the ass, Just ta pay his ass back, so they're standin' in line. That fuckin' pig. Look what he got himself into. Now they're gonna make some pigs feet outta the little punk. Anybody like pork-chops ? How 'bout a ham sandwich ? How 'bout a ham sandwich ? Artist: Cypress Hill Album: s/t Song: How I Could Just Kill a Man Intro: It's another one of them ol' funky Cypress Hill things YouknowhatI'msayin? And it goes like thisss... Verse One: Be Real Hey don't miss out on what your passin You're missin the hoota of the funky Buddha Eluder or the fucked up styles to get wicked So come on as cypress starts to kick it Cuz we're like the outlaw stridin Suckers are hidein Jump behind the bush when they see me driving by Hangin out my window And my magnum takin out some puto's Acting kinda loco I'm just another local Kid from from the street getting paid for my vocals (Be-Real) Here is something you can't understand (Sen Dog) How I could just kill a man Chorus: repeat 4X (Be-Real) Here is something you can't understand [what does it all mean] (Sen Dog) How I could just kill a man Verse Two: Sen Dog, Be-Real (Sen Dog) I been doin' all the dumb shit, yo, because I bet it's comin' from it I'm not gonna waste no time, fuckin' around like I got ya hummin Hummin'... comin' at cha... And you know I had to gat ya. (Be-Real) Time for some action, just a fraction of friction I got the clearance to run the interference into your sattelite, shinin a battle light, swing out the gat, and I know that will gat ya right. Here's an example, just a little sample. How I could just kill a man! One-time tried to come in my home, take my chrome, I said "Yo, it's on. Take cover son, or you're ass-out. How you like my chrome?", then I watched the rookie pass out. Didn't have to blast him, but I did anyway... Hahaha... that young punk had to pay. So I just killed a man! Chorus Verse Three: Be Real It's gonna be a long time before I finish one of the many missions that I have to establish To light my spliff, ignite ya with these sights and if you ain't down: bullshit! Say some punk try to get you for your auto, Would you call the one-time, play the role model? No, I think you play like a thug Next hear the shot of a magnum slug Hummin', comin' at cha yeah ya know I'm gonna gat ya How you know where I'm at when you haven't been where I've been, understand where I'm coming from. When you're up on the hill, in your big home I'm out here, risking my dome. Just for a bucket, or a fast ducat just to stay alive, aiyyo I gotta say "fuck it". (Be-Real) Here is something you can't understand (Sen Dog) How I could just kill a man Chorus: Outro: All I wanted was a Pepsi Artist: Cypress Hill Album: s/t Song: Hand on the Pump Verse One Well I'm an alley cat, some say a dirty rat On my side you see my gat, see I'm all of that Sendin off buck shots for I'm gonna wetcha Running hard, but I'm still coming to getcha Thinking like a peace smoke, comin on a homicide You talkin shit, try to take me for a ride I'm not a bad guy, but I'm the funky feel one Finger on the trigger with my hands upon the steel Lettin out a bullet, this is going boo-yaa You're stuck in my so hood, so what ya gonna do now? Being the hunted one is no fun Here I come son, yo I think you better run Better run more, and move a little faster Second of thought and I'm coming to blast ya With my Chorus Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump Left hand on a forty, [puffin onna blunt] Pumped my shotgun, [niggaz didn't jump] Lala la la lala la laaaaa... Verse Two Comin at you like a stiff blow, fuckin up your program Ain't takin shit from you him or no man Master mind maniac and a menace soooo How they want to pass sentence All because a nigga tried to play me on the trigger He missed, so now the nigga's pissed Rude and crude like a pitbull, get to the point Your fuckin car to get pulled, now I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And I'm handin out beatdowns I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And I'm handin out beatdowns [get your face down!] Put me in chains, try to beat my brains I can get out, but the grudge remains When I see ya punk ass, I'm gonna getcha Fucking do ya, shotgun go boo-yaa! Chorus Verse Three Kickin that funky Cypress Hill shit Take a lot of mental for the blunted to chill with, Cuz I'm the chill one, known to get ill one They stepped to the Hill "What's up?", I had to kill one Now I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And they got me on lock down Headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And they got me on lock down Hit me like a nigga who done lost his mind Cause I ain't goin out like a spineless jellyfish Some say life is a bitch Ask that punk who dug his own ditch Out for the Hill fuckin up at a party Tried to get funny, put a hole in his body Lala la la lala la laaa Look at all of those funeral cars Cause I'ma Chorus Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: Lick A Shot "Oh yeah it is!" "Colour is not important." Lick a shot! "Oh!" Comin' at ya "Fire!" Zippedy do da, zippedy hey Cried oh my, wanna get that punk with my AK And get on the way On a mission, puffin' on a fat ass jay Prude! You can't hang Flash back on the skills when I used to bang On the corner I'll warn ya Gonna roll on ya Fool Hit ya with a golden rule Don't turn your back on the street When I hit that corner, feel the concrete If ya push that by like nothin' Watch me turn to a psycho all of a sudden Blastin' at these fools with a passion Look at the Glock when it's time for some action Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Sunday morning Wake up it's stormin' Raindrops fallin' on my head it's pourin' Cats an' dogs Pigs in a wagon Lookin' for the Afro - one that's saggin' Scooby-Doo An' fucked down too Ploy me Don't let your punk ass try me Gonna take more Then you better call your backup team And wait for the crew I'm the one flippin' Keepin' the clip On my hip an' Just watch your back if you're slippin' Oooo Where did that .22 Come from When the bullet past through my lung I've lost my breath I'm winded I've been hit, by a slug that wasn't intended I hear thunder I wonder If a nigga like me's goin' under Take a number! Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Had a bad dream Woke up in a casket Now I can't even get back at the bastard Bull-shit! This pine box Ain't strong enough to contain the Afro Marx Critical bell rings Snapped out the dream What the fuck's up with the funny red beam Pointin' at me I got no strap G What now: gotta duck, they're gonna gatt me Bam, I feel numb Where did the shotgun blast come from Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Let the gatt hummm Lick a shot! So I let the gatt hummm Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: Insane in the Brain Who you trin' to get crazy with ese? Don't you know I'm loco? To da one on da flam boy it's tough I just toss that ham on the fryin pan like spam it's done when I come in slam damn, I feel like the son of sam don't make me wrek shit wit a automatic got me goin' likke general electric damn the lights are blinkin' I'm thinkin' it's all over when go out drinkin' OH makin' my mind slow, that's why I don't fuck with the big four-oh bro, I got ta' maintain cuz a nigga like me is goin; insane chorus: insane in da membrane insane in da brain! (repeat 4x) Do my shit undercover now it's time for for the blubba blaba to watch dat belly get fatter fat boy on a diet don't try it I'll check your ass like a looter in a riot much too fast like a sumo slammin' dat ass leavin' your face in the grass you know I don't take a chulo lightly punck just jealous cuz he can't outwrite me so kick that style, wicked wild happy face nigga never seen me smile rip dat mainframe I'll explain a nigga like me is goin' insane chorus Like louie armstrong played the trumpet I'll hit dat bong and break ya off something soon I got ta get my props cops come and try to snatch my crops these pigs wanna blow my house down and undrground to the next town they get mad when they come to raid my pad and I'm out in the night loose scared yes I'm the pirate pilot of this ship if I get wit' the ultraviolet dream hide from the red light beam now do you believe in the unseen look, but don't make you eyes strain a nigga like me is goin' insane chorus Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: Hits From the Bong Hits From The Bong Hits From The Bong Hits From The Bong Hits From The Bong Pick it, pack it, Fire it up, Come along, And take a hit from the bong, Put the blunt down just for a second, Don't get me wrong it's not a new method, Inhale, Exhale, Just got a ounce in the mail, I like a blunt or a big fat coal, But my double barrel bong is gettin' me stoned, I'm skill it, There's water inside don't spill it, It smells like shit on the carpet, Still it, goes down smooth when I get a clean hit, Of the skunky funky smelly green shit, Sing my song, puff all night long, As I take Hits from the bong... Hits From The Bong y'all Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Let's smoke that bowl, hit the bong, And then take that finger off of that hole, Plug it, unplug it, Don't straaaain, I love you Mary Jane, She never complains, when I hit Mary, With that flame, I light up the cherry, She's so good to me, when I pack a fresh bowl I clean the screen, Don't get me stirred up the smoke, through the bub-bling water, Is Makin' it pure so I got ta', take my hit and hold it, Just like Chong, I hit the bowl and I reload it, Get my four-footer and bring it on... As I take Hits from the bong, Hits From The Bong Gonna get high Hits From The Bong Gonna get high Hits From The Bong Gonna get high Hits From The Bong Gonna get high Hits From The Bong Gonna get high Straighten your dick out... Gonna get high... Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: I wanna get high I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! Well that's the funk elastic, the blunt I twist it The slamafied, (buddafied) funk on your discus Oh, what you messed with, you got to bare witness Catch a ho and another ho Merry Christmas Yes I smoke shit, straight off the roach clip I roach it roll the blunt at once to approach it Forward motion make you sway like the ocean The herb is more than just a powerful potion What's the commotion, yo I'm not joking around People learning about, what they're smoking My oven is on high, when I roast the quail Tell Bill Clinton to go and inhale Exhale, now you felt the funk of the power now feel the effects... I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! I want to get high - so high! yo hits from the bong yo hits from the bong yo hits from the bong yo hits from the from the bong from the bong yo hits from the bong yo hits from the from the bong from the bong yo hits from the from the bong from the bong Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: Cock the Hammer On a chicken-hunt, huntin' for a chicken Get paranoid when you hear my Glock clickin' Speakin' to the punk that's tweakin' With the bitch-ass styles I hit you like Deacon Jones house, cough without the bones I rolled ya up and smoked you like cones Split the seed and grow you like clones Don't start-me-up, cause I'm not the Rolling Stones But I get stoned with a little help from my friends With the (gubla), then I passed it round back to me again I can make you famous like Amos Same as the last punk, when I stuck the gatt up his anus Hear me growl: Grrra! Howl! I got the night vision just like the wise old owl I'm comin' ta fetch ya Yeah home direct ya Bury them bones Under my home and Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Take my weapon, step into a whole new realm And step back, as I take up the helm On the pirate ship I'm steerin' Droppin' the geran Just realize what you're hearin' The cannon sounded That's my companion: surrounded As my crew comes bounding As the captain Afro-america Whole lotta gattin' With the loc'ed out latin Busted! You're a red beard with a musket Better talk quick 'cause ya might get dusted Your gatt looks rusted, disgusted Oh look away, look away boy as I rush it Yes I know that you can't withstand it Watch that ass cause punk I'll brand it With a steel-toe, how you feel now When my boot stuck in that ass like a dildo Cry on a pillow, weeper that's willow The Hill got the skill for the static like brillo Hmmm, what you talkin' `bout punk Gimme room as I light up the boom Cock the hammer, wave the white banner Ever heard a Glock go `click' like a camera? Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Cock the hammer! Cock the hammer, it's time for action! Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: Ain't Goin Out Like That Let's kick it ese COMMIN' OUT DA SLUMS!!! It's da hoodlums I'm pullin' my gat out on all you bums So bring it on when you wanna come fight this Outlaw, I'll kick ya like Billy Ray Cypress Hill Kill, I'll bust that grill Grab my gat, and load up the steel And if you wanna get drastic I'll pull out my blasted glock, automatic, Synthetic material, bury your blocks-n-mortar Headed down to da Mexican border Smokin' that smellie, Northern Cali, Gonna put a slug in Captain O'Malley Ho, hum-Hear the gat come Boooooommmmmm! Let me see what you'll do when you're sent to kill a man But I'll be damned if I don't take a stand We ain't goin' out like that We ain't goin' out like that "We ain't goin' out!" We ain't goin' out like that We ain't goin' out like that "We ain't goin' out!" We ain't goin' out like that We ain't goin' out like that "We ain't goin' out!" We ain't goin' out like that "We ain't goin' out like that!" I'm high strung Click I'm sprung 'Cause I don't live on the hum-drum Where I'm from the gats'll be smokin' I'll be damned if ya think I'm jokin' Know that I come with the static, erratic, .45 automatic Screamin' at ya-the red lights beamin' at ya No need to run after the punk-ass who'd run up to my crew Dig the grave for the one who got played Now he's under Don't make me wonder why 'cause you'll testify We ain't goin' out like that I got to thinkin' "What the fuck is this?" Lettin' you know I take care of business Can I get a witness? To verify when I'm to bring this style That makes you ecstatic Tragic, when I get a poof of the magic buddha When I roll with my crew I betcha one time can't find my hooda! Hits'll be hitting with the belt unbuckled (I don't know this line) Pig rollin' up but he ain't that subtle Pulled to da curb So we exchange a few words But he got me stirred up "Ought not to grab the handcuffs. I'll huff-n-puff-n-blow ya head of!" We ain't goin' out like that EAT A BOWL OF DICK UP!! GEEEYEAH!! Artist: Cypress Hill Album: Black Sunday Song: 3 Lil Putos "Live and direct" One little two little three little putos Tried to jack me they got the boot-o Taking no shit when push comes to shove 'Cause the niggas showed me no love Step back punk 'cause I'm a Latino What I bring you is the hardcore lingo Funky, but ya don't understand Now I gotta stand with the Glock in my hand No scope And there's no hope 'Cause I'm dishin' Out my .45 slug and it ain't missin' Here it comes hissin' Here it comes hummin' at ya Now the slug is comin' at ya One little two little three hoodlums Gotta hit the ground 'cause here the slug comes What do you know, click clack goes the gun Make 'em run boy, make 'em run boy, make 'em run Cuando entro, loonie es el fuerte Speakin' to the gente 'Cause I'm insane in the mente Movin' em back, click-click goes the gun Make 'em run boy, make 'em run boy, make 'em run It's no fun When I got to break you off some Of the psycobeta beatdown, boy you get done Serio Here we go Off for the muchacho Come if you really want some of the chingazo Me caso you don't hear this little lazo Cypress Hill, breaking you off a pedazo Humming at ya Don't make me come gatt ya Punk 'cause I still will be comin' at ya One little two little three hoodlums Gotta hit the ground 'cause here the slug comes What do you know, click clack goes the gun Make 'em run boy, make 'em run boy, make 'em run When I come in, kickin' with a vengeance Swift of the engines Coming like the three little indians Stompin' around on the ground on the plains 'Cause a nigga like me is goin' insane In the brain So I gotta maintain My direction What I mighta gained Without my protection Not a damn thing So when I come just bring That new style, break ya off like a chicken wing Buckooock!! So you can just suck my cock Like a fat blunt, stoned is the way of the walk When I'm peepin' Checkin' out the punk-ass creepin' I let the dogs loose then I let the dogs sick 'em Graaah! Nigga don't make me catch ya Punk 'cause I still will be comin' at ya One little two little three hoodlums Gotta hit the ground 'cause here the slug comes What do you know, click clack goes the gun Make 'em run boy, make 'em run boy, make 'em run Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Throw Your Set in the Air Every Nigga out there wanna be down with the crew Some ain't got enough heart let me ask you-this Would ya be down like a soldier Loyal, and do everything I told ya I can mold ya into a warrior Down for ya neighborhood Workin up to a G with the flava Criminal behavior, on ya mind When I got ya back ya know I got ya back each and every time Throw ya set in the air, and wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air, and wave it around like ya just don't care It's time to exit that busta nigga Get ya hands out ya pockets and your finga on the trigga Let one fly, we don't die, we multiply Throw yo set up in the sky I ????????? cause you can't fuck wit this Nigga when I got the glock ya betta duck quick Cause I ain't havin it If ya got ya gat ya betta start grabbin it I can handle it Soy numero, uno, mero mero You know I run wit Muggs and the perro Firin up that heater When I'm throwin up a set I got my nina millemeter La scandalous, killafornia, where I'm from Dum ditty dum ditty ditty dum dum I'm buckin on ya ass now ya know where I'm from Dum ditty dum ditty ditty dum dum Throw ya set in the air, and wave it around like ya just don't care Throw... Throw... Throw... Let me take ya to the dark side of the moon Tell mama that ya won't be comin home anytime soon Cause I got ya under my thumb Nigga what set ya claimin Betta be the same set I'm claimin Take a look around count this amount of soldiers When I'm chillin on the east side of town And it won't stop till I'm done Dum ditty dum ditty ditty dum dum Throw... Throw... Throw... Artist: Cypress Hill f/ Def Squad Artists, MC Eiht Album: Unreleased & Revamped (EP) Song: Throw Your Hands in the Air 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 Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Strictly Hip-Hop [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 Artist: Cypress Hill f/ FunkDoobiest Album: Latin Lingo 12" Song: Stoned is the Way of the Walk (remix) [B-Real]: Who freaks the funk when the niggas wanna hit the bulnts, And feel the effects of the skunk, Ain't no clue to what's in my trunk, When ya wanna step up, and get done like the punk, Passin' lumps with my hand on the pump for protection, Follow my direction, Ya caught up, in the complex, listen, Now I roll a joint as I make the fat point, Yo we ain't criminals, just the gangsta origanals, But the pigs won't leave me alone, They triyin' to snatch up the green home grown, marricon, Can ya gettcha own rate like I'm throwin', Fortifiy this beaka and stone, Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk [Son Doobie]: Let I get a sip of the vino, You smart, ok though, I'll smack ya ass like my name was Al Pacino, Who knows?, we know, Like Fenny Babarino, Holey Toledo, run shit like the gambinos, Cause I want the funk and you know I'm gonna get it, Just like Armaggetin', son ya gonna be sweatin', I got'cha runnin', hidin', it's the doobie pirate, Can ya hear the sirens, I'm gonna be arrivin', Don't touch the dial, Mr. denile, I go the extra mile to stepp on ya like tile, Cause we, funk the ultimate flow like coligan, If were in the 60's we'de rock the Ed Sullivan, Now on Soul trian and like John Cultry, I got the doobie bass swinigin' like a gold chain, Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Stoned is the way of the walk Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Stoned Raiders [B-Real]: 1 for trouble, 8 for the road, 7 to get ready when I'm lettin' off all my load, Funk, Buddha monk, in the trunk, I got'cha, thumpin' so hard, Up and down the blvd., I'm a natrual-born cap-peela', strapped illa, I'm the west coast settin' it on, no one's reala', Get'cha fix of the uncut funk, A small dose of the skunk weed, like it's suppose to be, Move it up, just move it on out, What'cha talkin'bout son, I got the first shot, and it's all over now, One nation under a groove, Smoke a pound for the strict of it, Everytime I make a move, Smooth and togetha, Raw like leatha, Ain't goin' out like a punk, neva, Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove [B-Real]: It's the numba one money maker, Money takea, few steps back I'm on a plane to Jamaica,(Am I) Puffin' a fat wada, talk shit, For the fool I'm thinkin' about, I got the ruff shit, Hard rock bone breaka, Stoned Raider, in the Temple of Boom, Assurt to assume, Never be lettin' shit slide, no way, Bitch niggas can hide, But, I'll find they ass some day, Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove Wherever you are, put'cha muthafuckin' spliff in the air, Some dogs, like you gotta pair, When I kick to the metro, Lone clip, be lookin' around, Cause this shit ain't over with yet, People can't understand my situation, Now they cought up in the Soul Assasination, Fool, just take cover, it's all over, When I break ya off a chunk of this muthafucka, Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove Check it out, 1,2, Cypress groove Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Spark Another Owl 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.Artist: Cypress Hill/Pearl Jam Album: Judgment Night Song: Real Thing Verse One: It's time I came to get mine Runnin through the hoods with the hand on the nine Why do the pigs come Bring your ass on Cross the line so I can get the blast on Oh shit I'm empty but I've got a shake to the side So don't even tempt me Runnin the program Cypress Hill on the real with the Pearl Jam and I'm packing the steel Don't come my way cause it only takes one minute to reach for the AK then why what you gonna do now Nowhere to run when my dog's on the prowl Growling howling, give it up punk you might wanna throw the towel in I'm not doing the ill thing Cuz ain't nothing like the real thing Verse Two: GIve me a taste off open a place and a black nine by the wate line Never know when someone will test ya Let you know I got mine by my body chest ya I'm the big hum that became the attack Hurt a little friend with a bullet car jacker That I won't do anything for the looper When I've reached the Hill I strap when I swoop Click click bang bang Cuz it ain't no thang when I hang with Stone And I kick that funky slang You've got to do the funk when I've got to do the ill thing Cuz ain't nothing like the real thing Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: No Rest For the Wicked ...yo Muggs, make it rough. So many fools swingin' from my sack, Let's talk about the one who had my back! Down in the west coast, so lemme kick it To the motherfucker who calls himself wicked! No rest, no peace! No sleep, Doughboy rolling down the hill 'cause it's so steep! Jackson... lemme figure out the name, Jack 'cause you be stealing other niggaz game! But I'm the wrong nigga you wanna fuck with On my dick so hard, now ya wanna suck it! Go on the head, gobble up the nuts, Get your lips ready & tear this motherfucker up! Talk about Ezy, correct yourself. Cube, better step back & check yourself! Hmmm... let's talk about this First solo album on the east coast dick! The east coast niggaz all showed ya love, Especially the one known as King Sun! He tried to warn us niggaz aboutcha But nobody would listen, even started dissin' Two albums later, you callin' my crew, All because ya wannabe Cypress Cube! Shoulda known you couldn't hang in the alley, Good boy went to school out in the valley. Fuck it, lemme make this understood, Speakin' on mama's little Boy N Da Hood! No Vaseline, Just a rope & a chair & gasoline! Lench Mob is a friend of mine, But you talk about them niggaz from behind. You know what the Hossack(sp) is, O'Shea? A motherfucking pig that don't fly straight! Where ya gonna run to? Where ya gonna hide? Taadow! Look at who's running outside! Natural Born Bullshitta! Lemme hitcha With a dose of reality when I get witcha! Your homie...???????????????????? Put a pipe on the cover, even though you don't smoke Buddha! Let me take you down under on a plane Where everybody was going insane! Took a look at the Real one, AFRO COMB! Next morning you didn't have yours on. How many ways will you bite my shit? Wouldja wet me or start throwing up a set? Caution, when you enter the zone, Never used to bang 'til you heard the microphone! I got Cube melting in a Tray, Pulling up his card & fucking up his good day! Unoriginal rap veteran... The nigga who say he don't steal from his friends! Don't trust that nigga named O'Shea, FUCK'IM, and send him on his way. Happy singalongs! Artist: Cypress Hill/Sonic Youth Album: Judgment Night Song: Mary Jane LOOK WHO'S BACK ON THE PROGRAM HOOKIN UP ANOTHER FLY JOINT WHEN I FLOW ON THE SLOW JAM. WHEN I SHIFT I KICK TO GO LIKE I FAT DRUNK AND I LIGHT UP A FAT SPLIFF. TAKE A WIFF CAN YOU SMELL THAT IN THE AIR WHEN THE SMOKE COME OUT THE BUILDING FROM EVERY WHERE. SHIT I STILL GET DOWN SO JUST SIT DOWN WHEN MY THOUGHTS STOPS CRAWLING TIME TO SIT DOWN WITH YET I GO WRONG YOU GOT TO HIT MY BONG LATER ON THEN I4LL BE GETTING HIGH ALL ALONE YOU GOT A FRIEND NAMED MARY JANE AND SHE MAKE ME FEEL STANGE, NOW I'VE GOT TO CALL OUT HER NAME. CAN I CALL MARI JUANNA IF YOU WANNA PARTY WIILE SHIT I'M GONNA AS SOON AS SHE COMES OUT ROUND TO MY NEIGHBERHOOD DAMM AND SHE ALWYAS SMELLS GOOD LET ME MAKE THIS UNDERSTOOD ARE YOU EXPIRIENCED HAVE YOU EVER BEEN EXPERIENCED NOT FOR THE LIFE..... MAKE YOU DELERIOUS WHY IS THE ROOM SPINNIN I CAN'T STOP NOW I'VE MUST HAVE BEEN DRINKING CAUSE THIS AIN'T POT THAT'S DOING ME LIKE THIS I FEEL ILL NOW I'M CALLING OUT TO MARY CAUSE I JUST CAN'T DEAL . Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Make a Move Ezekial 25:17 "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. AND YOU WILL KNOW MY NAME IS THE LORD, WHEN I LAY MY VENGEANCE UPON THEE!" [Shots fired] Smokin' MC's like a bowl of Buddha Burnin' in my bong NOW You don't want to step to the rhythm of the funk degrees You'll be a prisoner in the temple of thieves Move it out, just move it on out, no doubt We the number one crew Kickin' more gas niggas out the house Puttin' up an argument, just don't bother `Cause I'll whoop that ass just like I'm your father Take heed to the master's call yes y'all (Bring your cell-phone cause I fade them all) Bullets fly But they don't give a fuck about who dies When you're in the middle of the fuckin' No question, confrontation Nowhere to run from the assassination Let the rain come down Whoops there goes another body on the ground Watch out for G hound It's the undisputed Cypress family Kickin' up dust can you handle us fragilly Growin' inside your mind like a tumour Spreading in your head like a rumor Venomous! I'm from the underground, I take care of business What the fuck is this? Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Suckas come in all shapes sizes and colors Let me get the rope And hang `em `till their fuckin' necks broke Wind passage cut off, now you can't breathe Let me give you what you need A fat dose of the good weed Like a puppet on a string I'm the one controlling your ass With the rough shit here to bring My army grows like the buddha I sold ya Every seed planted is another fuckin' soldier Like the `coup d'etate' Now ya are in the middle of the ambush Stuck in your car They can't find ya At the bottom of the lake Let me remind ya You better be lookin' behind ya It's too late, ain't no one standin' here Hallucination, bees hummin' in your ear Paranoia, dwelling to your dome piece Increase, the level of the terror that move ceased Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move Come on Open up the doors for the high funk buddha With the light point the dick can die Rolling with the six shooter Thirty-eight Still shootin' real straight Lookin' for the buster that I must eliminate No surprise As the inches demise Let the four flow As I look him right in the eyes And rip these niggas in half With the (fabergraph) They can't find a path I like the aftermath Still I reign the sect we remain The big bad Cypress Hill, fuckin' niggas up again When I aim I'm scopin' for your brain Brother stay low, cross-hairs break you up the frame Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! Move `em out! Move `em on out! Move `em out! "Ahh, now that the mind is open so one can clearly see what they clearly don't want you to see. But it's obvious, isn't it my brother? Get the smoke from in the front of your eyes, got to realize, anybody don't like Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III Temple of boom Song: Locotes 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 Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Let it Rain [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 Artist: Cypress Hill f/ RZA, U-God Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Killa Hill [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! [Rakeem] 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 Lyrics are speakin' Wireless idiots, 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..." Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temple of Boom Song: Illusions Some people tell me that I need help Some people can fuck off and go to hell God damn, why they criticize me Now shit is on the rise so my family despise me Fuck em! And feed em cause I don't need em I won't join em if I can beat em They don't understand my logic To my gat to my money and I'm hooked on chronic I never wanted to hurt a nigga Unless ya come flexin that trigga, I dig ya That grave on the east side of town Lay ya six feet underground From man, to the dust to the ashes All I remember tell me where the cash is Clic Cloc barrel at my dome Give all your loot or you ain't going home But I ain't going out wit the pain Wa da da dang, wa dada daa dang Chorus: I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind Muthafuckas be drivin me up the walls Hopin that I fall but they can suck my balls Straight jacket, strap it In a padded room when some punk niggaz can't hack it Distracted from our reality Now I'm let out on a minor technicality They all fucked up now Cause they let a nigga back on the street somehow I'm lookin for someone like me Livin in my own world to my own degree On the loose in the city lookin at the ho wit the big titties Lookin at me and I feel shitty A little tensed up gettin hot Cause she looks like my girl who just smoked at the crack spot I'm tryin to find ways to cope But I ain't fuckin round wit the gauge or a rope Chorus: I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions Artist: Biohazard f/ Cypress Hill Album: State of the World Address Song: How It Is "Hey yo, what up baby! Yeah this is Cypress Hill, Biohazard steppin' to ya Brooklyn, East-Side LA, what up now!" Look into the eyes of a madman You can see it in his face, he's a weak and sad man Staring straight ahead, his eyes set like stone With a nine millimeter cocked at your dome No way out, it's too late 'cause you're already in it So what ya gonna do you'll be dead in a minute Thinking slow will get you nowhere fast A young life terminated with one short blast You live like that, you die like this That 's how it is Livin' with regret ain't no way to live That's how it is You're dead too soon if the bullet don't miss That's how it is yo That's how it is That's what you get for living like this With a bullet in your head - you're dead, you can't miss Ain't no time for regret when your body's in a bag Ain't no time to change your mind when your head begins to sag Shoulda known better, ain't working for you now If you'd know better you'd be here somehow So change your ways before you ways change you With a hole in your head that you can see through You're looking up and you're looking down Shots are rippin' out from all around You're crying out for help but it can't be found The voice of regret is the only sound You live like that, you die like this That 's how it is Livin' with regret ain't no way to live That's how it is You're dead too soon if the bullet don't miss That's how it is yo That's how it is You live like that, you die like this That 's how it is Livin' with regret ain't no way to live That's how it is You're dead too soon if the bullet don't miss That's how it is yo That's how it is You play the game and you pay the price For hustlin' in the gutter with the motherfuckin' street lice But sooner or later what goes around comes around You wind up dead and buried in the hard, cold ground Dead and buried in the hard, cold ground Dead and buried in the hard! Cold! Ground! "Cypress Hill, once again, my symphony, steppin' to ya. So back on up ese, 'cause the 'Hazard is backin' me up homes!" You're looking up and you're looking down Shot's are rippin' out from all around You're crying out for help but it can't be found The voice of regret is the only sound!!! You live like that, you die like this That 's how it is Livin' with regret ain't no way to live That's how it is You're dead too soon if the bullet don't miss That's how it is yo That's how it is You live like that, you die like this That 's how it is Livin' with regret ain't no way to live That's how it is You're dead too soon if the bullet don't miss That's how it is yo That's how it is Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Funk Freakers 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] Artist: Cypress Hill Album: III - Temples of Boom Song: Boom Biddy Bye Bye Boom biddy bye bye Boom biddy bye bye Step back as I'm kicking up dust For a while As I put mothafuckas to rest And pull their files Out from the cabinet With the picture Get the 45 and settle it With this punk nigger Slow your roll As I take control Take your toke from the Indo' Then hit and hold Now let it out How you feel when the herb Got you by the balls And you're coughing up a lung anyhow You can't shake That nigger that's gonna brake Fool On any one member of your bitch crew As I pull the trigger On my nine Say goodnight nigger Boom biddy bye bye Boom biddy bye bye Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why Boom biddy bye bye I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry Boom biddy bye bye Any last prayers before you die Boom biddy bye bye Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye You ain't never caught a rabbit So you ain't no friend of mine It's a habit Barkin' up your tree with my nine Keep your bitch on a leash or at home A nick knack Paddywack Give the dog a bone The raw dog Fuck a law dog Still handin' out beat-downs wit' my sawed-off 'Cause a every now and then I got to knuckle up Buckle up Chin checking It's on I reckon It's the wild wild west Get your 40 and your blunt and your Glock and your bulletproof vest Let me guess Everybody wanna test Everybody burning up, gonna get burned like Ses Laudy daudy We're fucking everybody Boom biddy bye Sing the lullaby In the party Boom biddy bye bye Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why Boom biddy bye bye I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry Boom biddy bye bye Any last prayers before you die Boom biddy bye bye Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye Yes yes ya'll To the beat ya'll Watch a punk slipin' see the pouta fall I'm buck-loody Looking for the nigga who wanna cut me 'Cause the nigger gets so funky Fool I'm the one From The big bad Cypress Hill clique, a Number one son of the funk freaka Yes yes ya'll I'll be the one with the mad Buddha blast ya'll Comin' from the west ya'll But I figure You'd cry like a bitch Don't twitch 'Cause I just might pull the trigga Now lay down Stay down Don't move a muscle if you see your homeboy's brains on the ground Don't fuck don't say nothin' You fuck around and I might get ragamuffin Boom biddy bye bye Line up on the floor now you' all gonna die Boom biddy bye bye Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why Boom biddy bye bye I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry Boom biddy bye bye Any last prayers before you die Boom biddy bye bye Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye Boom biddy bye bye Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why Boom biddy bye bye I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry Boom biddy bye bye Any last prayers before you die Boom biddy bye bye Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye Boom biddy bye bye It's time to die Boom biddy bye bye Time to say good-bye Boom biddy bye bye Now it's time to die Boom biddy bye bye Now it's time to die