|
Cypress Hill - Red, Meth and B lyrics
Y'all ready for this? Ha! I don't think so! Yeah! Oh, listen to this! We gonna come at ya! [Redman] Cypress Hill! Yo yo yo - 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 the pipe, you gonna bleed tonight I eat beans and rice, shit up a storm I walk the streets with shark fin off my arms Doctor Dolittle, lit off the bone My bracelet like I raised it off the farm Home-grown, thick, dirty My family feud dudes who pack 2's on survey Jersey and house Gun like an elephants snout 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 live it 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 Blunt smokin', half a bottle of remi open You either holdin' or half-assed like semi-colon 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 be too thick Ever since you hit, yo my new chicks a new bitch Ya know if I can't eat, ya 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 a rapper's nerves shocked Now who's hot and who's not I want them rocks and that money in ya two 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 Hiller 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 flips ya brain cells like athletes Run a track meet, the rhymes on ya rap sheet With the foot long crush bong, look your collapsing, sicko They go on the break-off, 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 Bentley You twisted up, burnt out within seconds Cos you couldn't hang with the John Blaze methods Bong hittin', doc spittin', shark bitten Star stricken, glock clickin', stop shittin' Inhale the smoke from the master's lungs You wanna roll up, 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 |
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 Fornika by Die Fantastischen Vier |
 Fear of Flying by Mya |
![Pleyel [live]](http://www.thelyricarchive.com/img/pic/8501-9000/8878/album-83986) Pleyel [live] by France Gall |
 Zakiya by Zakiya |
 Years Later by Soulja Slim |
