Ladies and gentlemen
|
We would like to present to you
|
a group that is simply just marvelous, just marvelous
|
Ladies and gentlemen, Cypress, Hill
|
|
[B-Real] 16 men on a dead man's list
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
|
[Verse One: B-Real]
|
|
So many fuckin emcees claim supremacy
|
on whose got hip-hop locked, it could never be
|
one who is solo, runnin the whole game
|
That's bullshit, like cops never sniffed cocaine
|
But I'm taking on all comers, droppin bombers
|
Reducin numbers, makin it hot like the summer
|
This, one emcee he couldn't deal with the skill
|
Like Jack did Jill, I rolled his ass down the Hill
|
Beaten broken and coughin and chokin on the rhyme
|
like a hooker, suckin a dick for the first time
|
His, rhyme was hollow with no flow to follow
|
Bust a nut, all in your mouth, and made him swollow
|
I take 16 emcees, lock em in a room
|
Make em feel the contact, eatin the mushrooms
|
Playin with your mind, makin you feel the Force
|
Had to cancel out, two punk niggaz up in The Source
|
Tried to get XXL, they still fell
|
Bitches go tell your troubles to Montel
|
|
[B-Real] 16 men now there's 13 left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
[B-Real] 16 men now there's 13 left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
|
[Verse Two: B-Real]
|
|
I'm trippin on the people controllin the airwaves
|
Got it goin on, you know it all, but God save
|
your ass for clashin with the Soul Assassin
|
That's like Mike fuckin with Poppa Joe Jackson
|
Ass-whoop all over the place, you can't hide behind
|
the physical, better run to the spiritual
|
Ass-whoop critical, or you can get it
|
from the lyrical, bitch-made niggaz are invisible
|
Dysfunctional, hypocritical, smile in your face
|
The fuckin cynical shit brains
|
As I sit back and say, TALLY-HO!
|
One of these days your punk ass gonna go
|
Guess you had a key to figure the fuckin flow
|
but you're locked out, and the bomb's about to blow
|
|
[B-Real] 16 men let me see who's next
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo!
|
|
[Verse Three: B-Real]
|
|
Twelve punks to go, who's next on the list
|
Matter of fact I got one in my head to fix
|
There was one particular fool in the circle who fell off
|
Greed overcame the nigga who at all costs
|
changed up to gain it all, but shared none
|
Who made him all the money to overcome?
|
Niggaz up on the Hill, in the lab
|
He was rollin big balla style, high profile
|
Oh child, make me wanna act juvenile
|
All smiles, right in my face, but wait a minute now
|
Welcome to the 360, degrees
|
Pay a fee when you fuckin your people over the cheese
|
No soul, no conscience, no loyalty
|
to the niggaz who got him treated, like royalty
|
Aiyyo time's up, you're gonna end up seein visions
|
of everybody, you fucked over, you're Scared Sober
|
|
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho them niggaz has gotta go
|
[B-Real] 16 men till there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho them niggaz has gotta go
|
|
[Verse Four: B-Real]
|
|
Fuck the hater with the symbol and no soul
|
And that bitch nigga who stole my car stereo
|
Trick Deez, gets no love, she gets nuts
|
like Ass Miller, and that fuckin ex-dealer
|
Can't forget the nigga who was down with the Hill-a
|
And that punk who tried to dip into the squealer
|
You get bucked like C. Tucker and Will Bennett
|
Let me step, over the hump, and represent it
|
You go down like Jerry, and get smacked
|
like Trick Leo, now here's your fuckin eulogy-o!
|
|
[B-Real] That was 16 men now there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo
|
[B-Real] 16 men now there's no one left
|
[SenDog] Yo-ho-ho and a bag of indo
|
|
-----------------
|
16 Men Till There's No Men Left
|
| Cypress Hill |