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MAJOR ALBUMS | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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3:39 | 
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
Once again the powers of the herb open up the mind,
Seek deep inside, tell me what you find, Come on... 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. |
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4:06 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 your neighborhood Workin up to a G with the flava Criminal behavior, on the mind When I got ya back ya know I got ya back each and every time Throw ya set in the air (c'mon) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (throw it up homes!) 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 ask you ?? 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 Los 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 (c'mon) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (throw it up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (throw your hood up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care (got c'mon on!) Throw ya set in the air (give it up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care Nigga throw your set in the air, nigga you know I'm sayin' If you're scared nigga take your muthafuckin' punk ass to church Cause this one from a nigga on the east side Every muthafuckin' day is a job nigga Gotta handle your business, niggas you get don't You muthafuckin' cap on get peel back And it ain't no bullshit If you wanna test a nigga, bring it on nigga, you know I'm sayin'? Fuck your muthafuckin' set up in the air 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 ya set in the air (c'mon) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (throw it up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (throw your hood up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care Throw ya set in the air (give it up!) Wave it around like ya just don't care Yeah, that's right Straight givin' up the 'hood long day fool! Cypress Hill muthafucka watcha wanna do? Hell no Givin' my shit to be in your face fool! |
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2:54 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 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 |
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4:28 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 towwwwn Lay ya six feet undergrounnnnd From man, to the dust to the ashes All I remember tell me where the cash is Clicl-clack, barrel at my dome Give all your loot or you ain't goin home But I ain't goin out with a bang Wa da da dang, wa dada daa dang *I'm havin illusions, all this confusion's drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions, all this confusion's fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions, all this confusion's drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions, all this confusion's fuckin me up in my mind Motherfuckers be drivin me up the walls Hopin that I fall but they can lick my balls Straight jacket, strap it In a padded room when some punk niggaz can't hack it Distracted from all reality Now I'm let out on a minor technicality (ahhh) They all fucked up now Cause they let a nigga back on the streets 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 with the gauge or a rope *Repeat 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.. |
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4:00 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
"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!" In the midst of the madness no question, who's the baddest MC's 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, cream in my dream Cookin up a scheme for all them big bank figures 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 thrown sent home in dead position In the casket, best wishes At the bottom of the lake, sleepin with the fishes Full out search for the body of the MC's who be comin to disrupt the party No wins, no ends, no way that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again! Check my dramatics, brains get splattered, dreams shattered Sabas get blasted for words he packaged Peep the sequence; crab adolescents, on his defense Power-U niggaz talkin fast like Puerto Ricans What you seekin, son I catch cream like Dominicans Last Mohican, lyrics I'm speakin, wild as Indians Tomahawk - Shaolin slang, the violent talk Upstate New York, where chumps get extorted for Newports What you thought? Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again .. that that that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back, ease back Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again "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!" Words drop in chant, the cheeky-eyed slant I'm takin these cannabis plants yo for grant' 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, few things surroundin me Three 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 Meadowlark Lemon Five part criminal, two part felon - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again .. that that that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back.. ease back.. Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger - that I'm ever gonna let ya come back again Ease back or I squeeze up on the trigger.. "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..." |
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4:01 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 |
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5:01 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 |
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3:28 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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! |
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2:56 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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 --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 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? --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! 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 --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" |
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3:11 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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] |
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3:35 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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] |
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1:46 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
"(Inhales) Break that shit off nigga"
Look at all the M.C.'s trying to get down But all you get is a peeled back, dome cap I'm not the one to be having that shit All these punk niggas better bow down and submit Niggas don't know how to "keep it real" Only if you niggas know the real deal Fuck all the bullshit, Cypress Hill Comes raining on your brain Bringing the blood stains Smeared on the sidewalk, one mark dome of the prejudice skull, hanging in my home "Straight to you dome sucker So what you wanna do fool" The Big Game hunter, fucking shit up Get your ass back down, the Hill's on the cut Who'll get in the circle, let's see if you're raw Hardcore, last vato might hit the fucking floor Glocks and ?, in them one clip For any buster who wanna flip Back ese ?, shining in your eye Soul of an Assassin, until I die (Por vida ese!) Red light visions in your dome piece Nightmares running through your head, won't cease Look at you now, broke down and done No competition can ever get none "Straight flip-flop, nigga, flip-flop on your punk ass until you drop (Cypress Hill, coming at your grill) You're nothing but a motherfucking time clock Cypress motherfucking Hill (Fuck how you feel) It ain't but another piece to the puzzle fool!" |
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4:31 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
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, 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 |
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3:43 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
Fuck all y'all
I'm comin' of the wall I got a nigga from The Source Swingin' from my balls Ughh! Ya want me to set it Well my MAC-11 takes unleaded Let it rain And jackin' out fire What you're seein' when I'm takin' shit another level higher Now it's on Ain't gettin' domed Buckin' all these niggas 'till they all gone Now we can roll to the east side of town And I'm lookin' for a fat boy and a lotta (state of clown) You better move your ass to this MAC-11 Pointed at your ass for the 1-8-7 "Yeah motherfucker, gonna break your back with this shit. Hey motherfuckas: move back! Yo, B-Real.." I'm the head-hunter You goin' under Make a trophy Call it the two-headed buster On my mantle Back in the temple Givin' up the family Up and down Central Butt bloody Anybody Lookin' for a wide body One body Somebody Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson I ain't fallin' off like Humpty-Dumpty Nigga you still wanna bump me Still got the hand on pump And now I'm thumpin' on 'em Thumpin on 'em See Somebody, anybody scream When I got the gatt with the big red beam Now what if I moved it up right between your eyes Now your chances are never When you're lookin' at the slug at the of the barrel Where ya gonna run when ya can't move further Seven eighty one redruM with the Murder Tie him up Throw him in the trunk Let the funk Blow his earsdrums out 'Till he's bleedin' Then let's get him weeded It's the phunk Buddha Let me do the Ceremony up with the hoota And the shooter Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson Some be testin' Keepin' 'em guessin' Smile on my face Got the Smith & Wesson |
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3:03 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill III : Temples Of Boom (1995)
"This sure is. I got data on crazy shit for round the corner you know
The homeboys and the brothers be slangin' this shit But anyway, (everybody must get stoned (x4)) You over there singin' some shit, talkin' 'bout Everybody must get stoned I don't know but that shit sounds good to me" [Verse 1] Hit the joint, up the bomb, take a puff Till you just can't get enough Of the sunk a punk Pick an endo, wanna take control But the primaso puff on the endo (keep puffin') Let me take it in then I let it out (let it out) One of you motherfuckers pass the barred owl Peace to the niggaz in all the Budha spots Slangin' fat bags o' weed and runnin from the cops (runnin' from them fools) I hit the leno then pass it on To the cypha' of dreadlocks gettin' stoned (All the dreadlocks lya') >From the fat joint twisted at the end 'Cos I get high with a little help from my friends (from my friends) [Chorus] Everybody must get stoned I said everybody must get stoned (Everybody must get stoned)*variations* (x4) [Verse 2] Hit the blunt of the bong, take your dope Now my head's in a cloud of smoke and no joke Called 'the uptight', motherfuckers puttin' me down 'Cos I talk about the green shit in every town (Everywhere I go) You right in front of me, I can't see ya I'm blind and faded and I get the G-rock And everything's gonna be alright When I pass that toochi from the left-hand side Niggaz is havin' a good time tonight Roll it up, hold it up, pass me the fucking light (Gimme that lighter) Indoor on the home-grown Light it up, everybody must get stoned (gotta get stoned) (Chorus-different variations) You know how we talkin' to talk We say, stoned is the way of the walk (x4) (Chorus till fade) |
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3:33 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Unreleased & Revamped [ep] (1996)
[Wyclef] Refugee camp, with Cypress Hill
[B-Real] Yo, bringin it on [Wyclef] Cubans meet the Haitians Perfect combination, check it Verse One: Wyclef, B-Real [Wyclef] You say guns [B-Real] I say pistolas [Wyclef] Well if you got beef son [B-Real] Callate la boca [Wyclef] Go meet me on the island where the Cubans meet the Haitians [B-Real] A bullet beats the verbal lyrical assassination [Wyclef] From L.A. to Brooklyn why you doin all that talkin [B-Real] Think you got a soul but you're a Dead Man Walking [Wyclef] Yo toast the host from coasts' we boast When we meet again, I will be Casper that Friendly Ghost [B-Real] You'll hear shots, like the show Cops Things are still the same, I'm still growin crops [Wyclef] Wyclef with B-Real, let me build better yet [B-Real] Killa bee kill [Wyclef] Yo B-Real watch your grip Chorus: B-Real, Wyclef, Lauryn Hill [B-Real] Hi, boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhhahhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] You open up your eyes you'll be the next one to die [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] Ohh as simple as they come as as simple as they die [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] Yo who told the boyy, to pack a forty-five [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhahhhh [Wyclef] Now he rest in the place that they call paradise Verse Two: B-Real, Wyclef Fools run up, but they've never seen the last Spread your last lyrics get broken like glass Can he pass or does he posess the will Or does he need to create to keep him straight on the real Punks are broken some dey fall off the ledge Refugee Camp bringin it straight over the edge You duck as I fluff the feathers from ya skin How ya gonna win that's like Satan without no sin (without no sin) They'll never happen while I'm rappin I be watchin The Philistines, creepin up in Manhattan The sun turn up though Wyclef produce a track with Muggs But there's no survivors, they all died in the flood Chorus Verse Three: Wyclef, B-Real Yo, once a child, twice a villain If this was drugs I'd make a million off this combination They say you'redope Clef you're dope so they offer me sess and beer Beware, you pull your wallet Mr. Thief stares The opposite direction of the room, he pulled his gun and said I'm doomed join the son of man in the tomb I see the soldiers, comin from out the shadows Ready for battle, ain't trying to hear the baffled Warriors lined up in full war gear In it to win it if it goes on for years Dedicated to the stable of the Assassins Revolutionaries, just bring on the action Chorus [WYCLEF] Soldier man Rewind selector soldier man Refugee soldier man Brooklyn soldier man L.A massive soldier man New Jersey massive soldier man Uptown massive soldier man Long beach massive soldier man You know the whole world watches soldier man Boom biddy bye bye open up ya eyes you'll be the next one to die....... |
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4:08 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Unreleased & Revamped [ep] (1996)
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 |
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4:26 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Unreleased & Revamped [ep] (1996)
Intro:
What′s up we gonna go down the line baby Brand new one from the Call O Da Wild Give big shouts to money makin Manhattan 145th street crews, 155th street crews All my niggaz on the East Side We gonna flip the track baby, flip the script like this Big shouts to all the weed spots and all that who know how we do Me things no money sat on Monies chicks Fillin Barcadi on club seats Harm′s represent the crease on wise fully feet harmly accriminate Futuristic kittens of the street all malfunction seats Crews stand like mannequins sportin names is Tim′s I′ll make half your flaps burn is self-discipline And supportin your kittens if you′re convinced They keep the scripts movie-men Experience and hard is (unknown) has captured run for the (unkown) Mischievous black kids dipped in black hooches Ruthless-a the caswendler stupid used to pump with the any gooier Now let the card hold the futures Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual trauma causing dime Barron Ricks B Ricks stands anonymous decant flicks And non-raps that can′t bonely manifest the Buddha blessed Freshly dressed rollin in the clubs for success I′m not dressed in materialistic games to get the sex The five six I′m livin fortune of survival tactics Keepin my enemies close and all my niggaz out of business What is this? Slicey characters spreadin my business Fragments that can′t manage that do damage yo I had it Environmental pressure causing static In fabric of the asiac cabbage it′s madness All this I′m civilized now what do I now? Run these avenues buckwild with crews now who is it? Makin all you critics fiend these lyrics And be the core Yes y′all comin through on your premises This is it Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Interlude KnowI′msayin? Big shouts to my sacred projects connections know I′m sayin? All my brothers on 113th Lexus to-dial knowI′msayin? Big shouts to the LES baby we see you Put on Stella performances While niggaz place bids at auto auctions Re-model frames and changin rusty engines and courting And while you Forman fools wanna shorten my life My life is like survival organs It′s not important that you′re this lyrical dissertation Tossing lineal seeing precitals break your vinyl Chronically spotting spiral perhaps spinning out wax Yo ?Nas? put the black wars on elegant floors The teachers got operations make em insecure Gypsy cabs I flag Donnas DC slam that ass take a detour Affiliates with my predominately black landscape Hop the squad I watch the sling shot from rotting up your pin spot Jostling nigga glocked him playing possum I got the X-ray vision Ain′t nothing poppin while the tears who interfere And the fears they disappear Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin DONS Outro: Ah man that′s the Call O′ Da Wild flavor baby I can′t take it no more I′m outta here baby But before we get up out I wanna give big shouts To all the Buddha spots that made this possible Big shouts to the 99 cents store baby The discount health foods know I′m sayin? All the brothers on the Lexus ail with that good, goodness Big shouts to the party bag shop To all you other food spots on your roster crew with the end shit Yeah we out baby don′t forget to flip this to the other side Get with that Call O′ Da Wild baby, it′s like that yeah |
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4:42 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Unreleased & Revamped [ep] (1996)
Well I'm an alley cat
Some say a dirty rat On my side is my gat See I'm all of that Spittin' out 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-ya You're stuck in my 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 Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa 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 Oh, how they want to pass a sentence All because a nigga tried to play me on the trigger He missed So now the nigga's hist' Rude and crude like a pitbull Get to the point, your fuckin' going 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 get ya Gatt ya Fucking do ya Shotgun goes boo-ya! Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa Kickin' that funky Cypress Hill shit, Think I'll light another for the blunted to chill with 'Cause I'm the chill one Known to get ill when 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 Livin' 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 Up on the Hill fuckin' up at a party Tried to get funny, put a hole in his body Lala la la lala la laa Look at all of those funeral cars 'Cause I'm a Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa |
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3:11 |
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from Cypress Hill, Cypress Hill - Unreleased & Revamped [ep] (1996)
B-Real:
Whatta you know? The nigga stole my dough So I reached in the closet for the 4-4 [Whatta you know?] Jus' hold on, just wait a minute It's gone, along with my big bad nickel-plated Whatta you know? The fucker took my phone I still can't believe that he robbed my home! Whatta you know? I think he got to the herb And the ferria, and the jewlery, and the Mausberg Whatta you know? I can't find my keys to the 6-5 All the way live on D's Whatta you know? I can't find my Rolex With the 21 diamonds, shinin' on flecks Whatta you know? When I find that mark-ass nigga, I'ma cut out his fuckin' heart! Sen-Dog: Whatta you know? I came up on this baller For the dollar and the weed sack, and his Impala! Whatta you think, when you can't trust your so-called homie Like me, and you thought that you know me? Whatta you feel, when you're lookin' in the closet And the gat's gone, and so is your cellular phone? Whatta you know? I took your loot and the jewels With the buddah and the laptop in the nickel-plated tool! Whatta you know? Now I run the show With the phat pockets and the nigga's fly gold Wahtta you think, when ya ass gets jacked By a homie who was supposed to have your back? B-Real: Whatta you know? I'm rollin' in my zone And I think I see the puto who rigged my home [Whatta you think?] I got the glock in the glove Should I dump on the man, leave him lying in the mud? Wahtta you know? He pulled out my 4-4 Now I got no choice, so I let it all flow [Whatta you know?] The motherfucker's all blastin' 4-5 equal, in time for some tractions [Whatta you know?] Slide action, no question Forty-five slug is bad for your complexion [Whatta you know?] The puto's cryin' like a bitch Now the puto's lyin' in a fuckin' ditch! B-Real (spoken): [Whatta you know?] You can't even trust your fuckin' best homeboy these days, homes. [Whatta you know?] You got to sleep with one nine fuckin' open ... [Whatta you know?] Payback's a motherfuckin' bitch! [Whatta you know?] That puto should've watched his fuckin' back. [Whatta you know?] (repeated till end) |
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