B-Real - Throw Your Hands in the Air lyrics

Intro: Sen Dog Yeah Bust how we gonna bounce off this ninety-five Soul Assa**ins 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 sh**, 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 ba** 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 sh**, another one of those gangsta hits n***as 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 n***a 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 k** 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 sh** Raw silk, cuz YOU DO IT TO MY MUSIC *Funk Doctor Spock* lock the hypest Individual, to put criminal in diapers With my n***a E and Cypress, what I write b**h You swore, it was a nuclear war, crisis In your back yard, word to God, Def Squad! With my n***a Keith in the place takin charge Word up you'll get hurt up like the jury callin murder You're deaf cuz I freak sh** 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'mma get you Hit you, the Tech 9, I'mma 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, n***a 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 Assa**ins in your mind