Archive for category C
Cypress Hill – Whatta You Know
[Whatta you know?] (3x)
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)
Cypress Hill – Tres Equis
Conozco una muchacha y ella es fina
Tremendos cocos y tambien ella es linda
A veces me la cojo en la cocina
Esta muchacha me chupa la pinga
Yo le dije dame tu bollo
Me dice negro loco tu no eres mi novio
A mi me importa un carajo
A mi cuarto meterte un palo
Por tu culo o por tu chocha
Y ya tu sabes que no me importa
Y ella me dice suavesito
Yo pienso que tu eres bien rico
Cuando me toca por mi frente
Ya tu me tienes bien caliente
Y cuando me tocas por detras
Ya tu sabes sin parar
Acabe de singar y me levante
Fui al bano y me ban~e
Sali del cuarto y me esperaba
Con los ojos negros y bonita cara
Pongo mi camisa y mi pantalon
Se ria y me dice, “Negro sendenton”
Estaba fina
Esta muchacha estaba tan pinga
Hay! cuando se lo meti
Cuando se lo meti, grito, “papppi”
Estaba del carajo brother
No olvidate olvidate
Nunca habia singao yo como singue esa vez
Estaba fina
Cypress Hill – Throw Your Set In The Air
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 ya neighborhood
Workin up to a G with the flava
Criminal behavior on ya mind
When I got ya back ya know I got ya back each and every time
Throw ya set in the air and wave it around like ya just don’t care
Throw ya set in the air, and 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 ????????? 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
La 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, and wave it around like ya just don’t care
Throw…
Throw…
Throw…
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…
Throw…
Throw…
Cypress Hill – Throw Your Hands In The Air
Featuring Def Squad Artists MC Eiht
Intro: Sen Dog
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
Cypress Hill – The Phuncky Feel One
Are you ready?
Ladies and gentlemen
Bout ready to get down?
(repeat 2x)
Ladies and gentlemen
Verse One: B Real
Well I’m the Real one yes the Phuncky Feel One
Cypress Hill has come any quest/just ask them
Cause we are answerin any brothers that’ve been
On the dick swingin and straight gatherin
Enter da info cause yo what you’re in fo’
Is a crazy day strapped in a pimp mode
Trapped like a prophet, but I still profit
Even when you’re off it, bank’s in my pocket
Cause of my music, what you call me chumpy?
In my trade, the Tribe is known to get funky
Hif is here to hack you sown, Son is here to buck you down
Joke’s on you, if you’re the biggest duck in town
You got to relax, we got to kick back
Brothers just sit back, enjoy me like a six pack
As I let the rhyme flow, into the hook
Yo where you gettin took, but that’s another story black
Chorus: B-Real
Cause I’m the Real one, yes the Phuncky Feel One
I’m the Real one, yes the Phuncky Feel One
I’m the Real one, yes the Phuncky Feel One
You know I’m the Real one, yes the Phuncky Feel One
Verse Two: Sen Dog, B-Real
Night in a stiff block, hangin up the pimp’s jock
Used to call me Pimp Poppa, cause I likes to hip-hop
Cause I’m down with Cypress, illin well I might
Begin to take your girl, your girl she’s the flyest
Flyer than the other broad, workin off the pitched rod
Isn’t that odd, instead of sayin my dick’s hard
It’s not about knockin you, do you feel like clockin loot?
Forget it act stupid little sucker I’ll be clockin you
With the right or left hand, duck they was still stand
Troopers on the side step, bucks him down to death man
With the greater lyric, if you can spare it
Just an ass kickin, is what you inherit
So don’t try to snake off, you know I can’t be shook off
Why the suckers took off? Well that’s another story black
Chorus
Verse Three: B-Real, Sen Dog
Standin on the corner, close to the real estate
Clones they really pull stickin brothers try to imitate
Meaning when they simulate, but they can’t stimulate
Like a faded joint, stiff from the breath I take
Make me act loco, they switchin up my vocal
Out to catch you so-called, MC’s with a roll call
Then you gotta close your eyes, you can’t stand the sunlight
There is just one light, the Tribe’s buckin heads tonigght
Buck buck buck ya head! Sorry that red is dead
Deader than a doornail, someone cold made his bed
Didn’t just break out, the sucker got cracked out
Hit the pipe and blacked out, with the shit from back down
So much more integrity, greatest deal I hook up
Was a funky looker
But that’s another story black
Chorus: (together)
Send
Cypress Hill – The Funky Cypress Hill Shit
[B Real]
I came to introduce a new type of juice
Stuff I invents to make you feel real loose
No you don’t drink it just let it sink it
Then start feelin it (The Funky Cypress Hill Shit!)
People ask “Why do you sound so funny?”
They must be talkin bout my funky nasal vocal money
I take control no need to blow my nose
Just click on the chumpy and feel the funky flows
For you and your bros, him and his hoes
You don’t like it? Here’s my dick — bite it
There’s nuttin you can do about the real one
It’sa ill sum with the ill juice, I’m +The Phuncky Feel One+
Sen’ll +Psycobeta+, blast ya if he hasta
Tell em Sen (I’m the Psycobeta master!)
Strikin ya (hittin ya) buckin ya (fuckin ya)
Like my buddha plant boy, I’m gonna keep PLUCKIN ya
Pickin ya, then I’m gonna roll you up and light ya
Despite your booty in sight to take my joint
To get to my point, I’m talkin about a ill trip
The Funky Cypress Hill Shit
[Sen Dog] The Funky Cypress Hill Shit! (4X)
[B-Real]
Let me tell you what happens when you squeeze, you’re juiceless
You can’t get loose, so now you’re useless
Can’t feel the funk so I guess I’ll pump the wrist
How bout this mug kiss my blunt?
Right into ya, now you’re feelin, the chemicals vibin
Are you realizin, that, it’s gettin better?
Surprisin you, whether or not, your shit’s together
From the high-pitched levels (comin from my rebels)
Cypress Hill imported it, boiled it in steam
But yo everything ain’t what it seems
Cause the Cypress Hill material luxurious superior
Glory or memorial, historical physical
Ingredients, gettin that immediate blend
Yo Sen take aim, and let the juice now extend
(Yeah I’m still comin atcha, but you don’t need to duck down
Cause this is somethin different than a Psychobetabuckdown!)
[Sen Dog] The Funky Cypress Hill Shit! (4X)
..
[Sen] Kick that shit B-Real!
[B-Real]
Intellect filthy umm lingo
Dissed you, I control elements, suck on slow
(to get you all jazzed) from here to Tallahassee
This ain’t Florida, so put away the O.J.
Never in your life will you wet this
This crazy business, now you’re thinkin (?)
(?) it’s good like some cheeba
The formula will run ya I’ll start takin up a list
So you can get blitzed and you feel your head’s twisted
Now insisted, you feel it to the brim
Yo I ain’t him, I could never be them
This ain’t poison, so let’s go out on a limb
For the boys and girls who haven’t had it yet
If you get too much, and roll it too straight
Yo it’s a fatal blow, somethin like a ?
Yeah it’ll sting ya, (?)
See ya, I’m on it, somethin for the blunted
Just what you wanted, so you can feel the high
Smokin the buddha thai
Lungs expandin and now you’re feelin it
Yeah, the funky cypress hill shit!
[Sen Dog] The Funky Cypress Hill Shit! (4X)
Cypress Hill – Tequila Sunrise
[Featuring B Smooth]
Intro: B Real and Sen Dog
B R: Pa’ la salud! (to your health!)
SD: Pa’ la salud! (to your health!)
B R: Primero yo… (me first…)
(gulp)
B R: *grrrrrah!*
B R and SD: *mexican yells*
SD: Cometelo! (eat it!)
Verse One: B Smooth
Word up Tequila style… eat the worm
(overlapping intro’s end)
Tequila spice hot nice
Milling rice sipping on Jose Cuervo
Down in Tiajuana, Mexico
Thinking of the big score the night before
Met the connect, who was impressively dressed
In high fabrics
With troops like Babe Ruth, up on the mezzanine
Brandishing sub-machine guns, aye-yo
It’s all about the money, son
Now that’s the only reason
We came south of the border, to complete this work order
We gotta get it, no looking back, going all out for it
Ready to attack, die in a minute flat for it
As God is my witness, we got ditches
For all you motherfuckin fake bitches
It all boils down to the business
Nothing personal, when niggaz acting like they helping you
I fuckin blast you like Frank Castle, motherfucker!
Chorus
Tequila Sunrise, bloodshot eyes
Realize we’re all born to die
So get the money nigga!
(repeat 2x)
Verse Two: B-Real
I never knew money like this, in the palm of my hand
‘Til I met the man with mad hook-up, and big plan
Every where you look’a, he got everybody shook up
Running for cover, the big bad WOOF, motherfucker
He was like a father figure, show me the bigger picture
Fuck slangin’ on the corner, don’t let the pigs get you
Not like these fools who don’t comprehend
You end up doing a twenty-five bid in the pen
You got that? Getting your cup, I took a swig
The bitter taste of the ‘mezcal’, free worm shit
Droppin’ a lesson, he slapped my face, he said listen
Pay attention brotha, you’re my ace, but don’t ever question
Just do what I say, and you’ll be rich
And keep this in your mind: rats lay in a ditch with no spine
Don’t ever forget that golden rule in the game
Cheers, they all know your name, it’s like fame
Why, women and money don’t mix, like drinking an’ driving
Watch those conniving women and keep your eye out
Always be aware of what’s around you
They wanna down you, and fuckin clown you
Keep your shit in order the money won’t stop
Pretty soon you’ll be on top
Chorus
Verse Three: B-Real
Tequila Sunrise, with the bloodshot eyes
My, my, my, how time flies and goes by surprise
My mentor passed on and passed a warn to me, emergency
For my enemies who wanna murder me
Eat the worm, motherfucker, while you burn, motherfucker
Better kill me, don’t let me return, motherfucker
Trust no man, cause I’ll be back, you understand?
With a plan, and my ace in hand, I want it all
I recall the words from Jesus, you are the Juice
Better go get it, don’t let it get to your head, embed it
Let these words stick, you better be ready to die
Now take a fucking sip, caution it, but I never lie
Chorus
(music outro)
Cypress Hill – Tequila Sunrise Spanish Version
Pa’la Salud
Pa’la Salud
Primero Yo!!
ARRGH!!!! (Mexican Yell)
Cometelo!!!!!!!
Aqui estoy con mi barrio listo a hacer feria
Cartel Cypress Hill esta en tu area
Colectando queso alla en Mexico
Donde el sol quema duro y baja despacio
Tengo mis camaradas y todos tambien
Tengo una mansion en tierra que mide cien
Y todos se den cuenta vengo a hacer transas,
Como Chalino aqui estoy pa’la raza,
Me veen en mi ranfla con todos los hierros,
Cuidando mi negocio con todo mi perro,
No trates nada tengo mis soldados,
Espiritu asesino viene preparado,
Raperos desperados es nuestro tema,
El dicho de nosotros Agarra La Crema.
Tequila Sunrise
Con los ojos rojos un dia vamos a morir,
Escandalosos!!
Nunca conoci dinero asi, En mis manos,
Hasta que conoci, un camarada como hermano,
No importa donde miro, Tiene a todos asustados,
Corriendo por cubres, Por mas que vende amarrados,
Pero como guerrillero me enseno la foto grande,
Asi vendiendo drogas, Jamas nunca antes,
No como rateros, Que no entienden no comprenden,
No pases anos torcidos con placas en tu frente,
Entiendes??, Me dio una copa y tome,
El sabor malo del gusano me jame, Dandome lecciones,
Me cacheteo y dijo mira, Eres mi mejor paisa,
Pero nunca me digas, Lo que digo y te hago
Rico Chico, Que hasta duermen en hoyos,
No me cruces o te pico,
Que no se te olviden las reglas del juego,
Te van a conocer hasta que quemes en el fuego,
Mujeres falsas y dinero no va,
Como tomando manejando mi hermano te matara,
Quedate alerta a lo que esta alrededor,
Esas cosas que dije van a ser tu matador,
Tenlo todo en orden, La plata no va a parar,
Recuerdate de mi y siempre vas a ganar.
Tequila Sunrise, ay ay ay,
Tiempo vuela rapido y by surprise,
Mi pana se murio y a mi me dejo,
Capitan de la movida aqui, digo yo,
Tragate el gusano cabron, Soy el maton,
Si no me matas te mato a ti, Como un ladron,
Confia en nadie, Vengo pa’atras y jamas me cruces a mi,
Porque yo, Tengo mas, Me recuerdo lo que digo Jesus,
Si quieres el dinero, Paisa, Tienes que ser primero,
Que te peguen mis palabras,
Estas listo pa’ morir, A todo tiempo,
Porque si no, Vas a sufrir.
Cypress Hill – Strictly Hip Hop
[B Real]:
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,
[B-Real:
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
Cypress Hill – Stoned Raiders
[B Real]:
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
[B-Real]:
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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