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
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 Erick Sermon
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
Ah 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
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
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
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
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
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
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 CPT, 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
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
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
Aight, for everybody, all our peeps out on the corners
All the alleyways, for all our deceased
Incarcerated peeps, brothers on the streets
Nineteen ninety-five, soul assassins in your mind