Cypress Hill "Red, Meth & B" |
Y'all ready for this? Ha! I don't think so! Yeah! Oh, listen to this! We gonna come at ya! [Redman] Cypress Hill! All my niggas say jump up, doc broke out the kennel A dog on four paws spittin' out the window Jump up! It aint no need to fight We may squeeze too tight, you gonna bleed tonight I eat beans and rice, shit up a storm I walk the streets with sharp (?) off my arms Doctor Dolittle, lit off the bong My bracelet like I raised it off the bomb Home-grown, thick, dirty My family few dudes who pack tools on survey Jersey and house Gun like an elephants mouth Pull ya ambulance out Ya whole team'll get bombarded Ya on target, and bombed by some unsigned artists We leave ya hair cut like a blind barber Cut it, and gave you a line with fine markers I won't leave till the job is done Till the last prick nigga take ya wallet, RUN Doc with the shotty and we both catch a body with Cypress Hill Yeah! (Chorus: B-Real) We don't give a fuck, we living up till the day we die You try to deal with us, but you got no blunts to get high You won't be real with us, but ya reelin' us and you want to ride You try to deal with us, but you got no blunts to get high [Method Man] Yo, yo, yo Blunt smokin', half a bottle of remi open You either holdin' or half-assed like Shimmy Coaling I leave ya chokin' on them lollipop rhymes ya callin' So hard, hell I crack the shell on ya candy coatin' If the shoes fit like Alan I did (?) Yo my new chicks a new bitch Ya know if I can't eat, yall can't sleep Plus I'm in denial, I just can't admit defeat My mind is my glock, keep my third eye cocked Bust mines off tops, leave the rappers nerve shocked Now who's hot and who's not I want them rocks and that money in ya tube socks Meth the mister, if crime is an art, then let me paint a picture I'm gone, Kodak can't even frame the riddler Gold realin', Meth, doc, Cypress Hilla Whoever think they fuckin' with that, lets be realer (Chorus) [B-Real] Take the back seat and smash beats Smoke blunts through ya lungs and flex ya brain cells like athletes When a track meets the rhymes on ya rap sheet With a foot long kush bong, look your collapsing, cinco thinko, on the brink of mental breakdown and shit you wouldn't think of I spread it to Reggie, chances are better but deadly You wanna be friendly on the get high medley You twisted up, burnt out within seconds Cuz you couldn't hang with the John Blaze methods Bong hittin', thought spittin', shark bitten Star stricken, glock clickin', stop shittin' Inhale the smoke from the master's lungs You wanna roll off, yo I'm the fastest one (ha!) You wanna test with the sess, well first off That shit is funny like Kid Rock with his shirt off (Chorus) X2 Lyric from www.lyricmania.com |