[Intro: Sen Dog]
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Yeah
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Bust how we gonna bounce off this ninety-five Soul Assassins
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Cypress Hill joint.
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Yo we want everybody out there to throw their hands up...
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...so get it on kid!
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[Verse One: Erick Sermon]
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Fresh is the word, when I display my rappin forte
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Quicker done than O.J., hey
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I freaks my shit, E the lyrical master
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Stress me out, no doubt, I might have to blast ya
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Let me ask ya, can I gets busy one time?
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And unwind and chill, with 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 Phil blunt smoker
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Believe me not, I'm wicked like three sixes
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I'm doper than the Pete Rock remixes
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Never walk through the crowd sluggish
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I'm hardcore to the Bone, I'm Thuggish Ruggish
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The Green-Eyed, Bandit, I be ERRRICK SERRRMON
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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 weed
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[Verse Two: B-Real]
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Ahh shit, another one of those gangsta hits
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Niggaz wanna get busy with the ultimate
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Fools get real, yo I'm representin the Hill
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With chips and clips and tons of blue steel
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So who wants to be the first nigga to die?
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Then try and test this, buddha blessed Gemini
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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 Sermon
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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
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[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
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[Chorus]
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[Verse Three: Redman]
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I rhyme tricky, the sticky smoka with the mind itchy
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finger up on the pen, be like "He the bomb, dicky!"
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These off-keys 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
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is what I leave your crew with, boom bip or some two and two shit
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Raw silk, cuz YOU DO IT TO MY MUSIC
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*Funk Doctor Spock* lock the hypest
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individual, to put criminal in diapers
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With my nigga E and Cypress, what I write bitch
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You swore, it was a nuclear war, crisis
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in your back yard, word to God, Def Squad!
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With my nigga 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 I freak shit you neva heard of
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[Chorus]
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[Verse Four: MC Eiht]
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Steppin to the park in the Hill you can't hang
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The original baby gangsta on this Compton thang
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Don't slip, the late night hype, is when I dip
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Boo-yaa is the sound from a lonely clip
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Can't feel me, if 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-Eyed Bandit, Cypress Hill, and the Funk Doctor Spock
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You wish you could hang, like I hang
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Dwells in the C-P-T, the hood thing
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G, the trigga finger, I'ma get you
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Hit you, the 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 I hit your block
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Throw your hands in the air, don't bite this
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I squeeze, nigga please, the E down with Cypress
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[Chorus]
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[Chorus]
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[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
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-----------------
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Throw Your Hands In The Air
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| Cypress Hill |
