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Yeah Bust how we gonna bounce off this ninety-five |
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Soul Assassins |
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Cypress Hill joint. |
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Yo we want everybody out there to throw their hands up... ...so get it on kid! [Verse One: Erick Sermon] |
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Fresh is the word, when |
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I display my rappin forte |
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Quicker done than |
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O.J., hey |
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I freaks my *****t, |
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E the lyrical master |
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Stress me out, no doubt, |
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I might have to blast ya |
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Let me ask ya, can |
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I gets busy one time? |
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And unwind and chill, with |
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Cypress Hill |
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Huh, I go on with my bad self |
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I'm the four pound toter, the |
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Phil blunt smoker |
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Believe me not, |
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I'm wicked like three sixes |
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I'm ****r than the |
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Pete Rock remixes |
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Never walk through the crowd sluggish |
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I'm hardcore to the |
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Bone, I'm |
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Thuggish Ruggish |
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The Green- |
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Eyed, Bandit, |
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I be ERRRI |
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CK SERRRMO |
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N I gets real determined |
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And one for the trouble, and two for the bass |
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I take it to your face with this here lyrical mace |
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And if you don't know, y'all better recognize |
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I'm coming through with speed, with pounds of ***** [Verse Two: B-Real] |
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Ahh *****t, another one of those gangsta hits |
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*****z wanna get busy with the ultimate |
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Fools get real, yo |
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I'm representin the |
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Hill With chips and clips and tons of blue steel |
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So who wants to be the first ***** to die? |
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Then try and test this, buddha blessed |
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Gemini You get thrown sent home in a coffin |
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Punk stuff don't make it back, very often |
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I got Erick to take care of the |
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Sermon Ashes to ashes, dust, bodies burnin |
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Bustin open the doors to the temple |
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Takin you to the dark side of your mental [Chorus: B-Real] |
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Kickin it to the brothers on the corners, in the alleys |
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Throw your hands in the air |
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Kickin it to the brothers on the corners, in the alleys |
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Throw your hands in the air [Chorus] [Verse Three: Redman] |
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I rhyme tricky, the sticky smoka with the mind itchy finger up on the pen, be like "He the bomb, *****y!" |
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These off-keys |
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MC's hawk me, they won't get off me |
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So I kill em softly and use em as walkie talkies [bzzzzt] |
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Turn up my level adjust my voice pitch |
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Hoist this diagnosis, comatosis is what |
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I leave your crew with, boom bip or some two and two *****t |
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Raw silk, cuz |
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YOU DO IT |
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TO MY MUSI |
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C *Funk Doctor |
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Spock* lock the hypest individual, to put criminal in diapers |
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With my ***** |
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E and Cypress, what |
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I write ***** |
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You swore, it was a nuclear war, crisis in your back yard, word to |
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God, Def Squad! |
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With my ***** |
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Keith in the place takin charge |
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Word up you'll get hurt up like the jury callin murder |
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You're deaf cuz |
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I freak *****t you neva heard of [Chorus] [Verse Four: MC Eiht] |
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Steppin to the park in the |
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Hill you can't hang |
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The original baby gangsta on this |
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Compton thang |
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Don't slip, the late night hype, is when |
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I dip Boo-yaa is the sound from a lonely clip |
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Can't feel me, if |
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I was crack you'd try to steal me |
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Heard you, and your little crew, wanna peel me |
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Keep your hands on your hood, you get got |
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The Green- |
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Eyed Bandit, |
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Cypress Hill, and the |
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Funk Doctor |
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Spock You wish you could hang, like |
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I hang Dwells in the |
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C-P-T, the hood thing |
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G, the trigga finger, |
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I'ma get you |
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Hit you, the |
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Tech 9, I'ma split you |
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Ain't no poppin, no stoppin |
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Tick to the tock, tick tock |
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I hit your block |
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Throw your hands in the air, don't bite this |
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I squeeze, ***** please, the |
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E down with |
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Cypress [Chorus] [Chorus] [Outro: Sen Dog] |
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Aight, for everybody |
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All our peeps out on the corners |
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All the alleyways |
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For all our decesed |
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Incarcerated peeps, brothers on the streets |
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Nineteen ninety-five |
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Soul Assassins in your mind |
