Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
es que no me gusta
es que la gente, la gente no sirve pa' mierda
aque yo soy, yo soy el capitan pinga loca
y todo el mundo aqui, me sigue a mi o va pal' carajo
oye, revolucion compadre!
  
(B-Real Verse 1)
In the midst of the madness
No question, who's the baddest
MCs in the game runnin' for the status.
Take a few seconds to review the crews
Sittin' on top is the Hill lookin' over you.
Killa Hill Niggas
Cleaned in my dream
Cookin' up a scheme
For all them big bad niggas
The world is yours but it can be mine and his
Bust you out the frame I don't give a fuck who it is.
Number one mission, opposition
Get dumb, succumb and then position
In the casket, best wishes
At the bottom of the lake sleepin' wit the fishes.
Full out search for the body
Of the MCs who be comin' to disrupt the party.
No wins, no ends, no way
That I'm ever gonna let ya come back again!!
  
(RZA Verse 1)
Check my dramatics
Brains get splattered
Dreams shattered
Sabas get blasted for words he packaged.
Beat the sequence
Bravado lessons on his defense
Pile(or Pow) you niggas talkin' fast like Puerto Ricans.
What you seekin'
Son I can clean like Dominicans
Last Mohican
Lyrics are speakin'
Wireless idiots.
Tomahawk, Shaolin slang, the violent talk
Upstate New York
Where chumps get exported for Newports
What you thought
   
y esta dicho, todo el que no le guste y me rebote, van a morir
yo le voy a meter una bala en la cabeza a cualquier maricon que no me
persige a mi
a la chica muerta, oye hijo'e'puta quiero quemarte la cara
  
(B-Real Verse 2 or Chorus)
  
(U-God Verse 1)
Words droppin' chant
The check DI slant(???)
I'm takin' these cannabis plants 
Yo for granted.
Exotic, narcotic
Tunes slam soon
From a dune
In the desert
Mega-Babylon pleasure.
Comin' out the domepiece, smell my aroma
Worrior nomad
Put'u in a coma.
Comma, Llama
Smash-crashin' your armor
Drama, I'm a
Stealth aircraft bomber.
He is where I dwell
At the gates to hell
It ain't where you're from
It's where you're in the mentals
And if not, yo credentials
Are essential
I see reality
View(or Few) things surroundin' me.
Free like a spread, precise strikes the lyric
Not frontin' or braggin'
Hundred percent red dragon.
Pine fragranced lyrics, the rhymes you can't imagine
The globe-trotter, call me Meadowlark Lemmon
Five part criminal, two part felon....
  
Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigga
Then I'm never gonna let ya come back again.
The' the' the' then I'm never gonna let ya come back again.
Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigga
Then I'm never gonna let ya come back again.
Ease back, ease back.
Ease back, ease back or I squeeze up on the trigga
Then I'm never gonna let ya come back again.
  
y esta dicho, aqui la revolucion no se va a ver por television
todos los maricones del norte que los voy a matar yo
va a ser aqui en nuestro pais, todos a singa masones
que estan singando a el mundo, tambien, van a ver la muerte ellos 
mismos en
las manos de ellos,
un dea, mucha sangre, mucha sangre y la peste de los cuerpos 
muertos van a 
oer que se va a
hueler en todos los Estados Unidos,
estos cabrones que con la democracia que nos estan singando en el culo,
todos son los mismos cabrones, que se...  (fade out).

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)              Transcribed by: oLe Peder/G-Real
Group: Cypress Hill
  
Boom biddy bye bye
Boom biddy bye bye
  
Step back as I'm kicking up dust
For a while
As I put mothafuckas to rest
And pull their files
  
Out from the cabinet
With the picture
Get the 45 and settle it
With this punk nigger
  
Slow your roll
As I take control
Take your toke from the Indo'
Then hit and hold
  
Now let it out
How you feel when the herb
Got you by the balls
And you're coughing up a lung anyhow
  
You can't shake
That nigger that's gonna brake
Fool
On any one member of your bitch crew
  
As I pull the trigger
On my nine
Say goodnight nigger
Boom biddy bye bye
  
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
  
You ain't never caught a rabbit
So you ain't no friend of mine
It's a habit
Barkin' up your tree with my nine
   
Keep your bitch on a leash or at home
A nick knack
Paddywack
Give the dog a bone
The raw dog
Fuck a law dog
Still handin' out beat-downs wit' my sawed-off
'Cause a every now and then I got to knuckle up
Buckle up
Chin checking
It's on I reckon
It's the wild wild west
Get your 40 and your blunt and your Glock and your bulletproof vest
Let me guess
Everybody wanna test
Everybody burning up, gonna get burned like Ses
Laudy daudy
We're fucking everybody
Boom biddy bye
Sing the lullaby
In the party
   
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
   
Yes yes ya'll
To the beat ya'll
Watch a punk slipin' see the pouta fall
I'm buck-loody
Looking for the nigga who wanna cut me
'Cause the nigger gets so funky
Fool I'm the one
From
The big bad Cypress Hill clique, a
Number one son of the funk freaka
Yes yes ya'll
I'll be the one with the mad Buddha blast ya'll
Comin' from the west ya'll
But I figure
You'd cry like a bitch
Don't twitch
'Cause I just might pull the trigga
Now lay down
Stay down
Don't move a muscle if you see your homeboy's brains on the ground
Don't fuck don't say nothin'
You fuck around and I might get ragamuffin
Boom biddy bye bye
Line up on the floor now you' all gonna die
  
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
   
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock-a-bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
   
Boom biddy bye bye
It's time to die
Boom biddy bye bye
Time to say good-bye
   
Boom biddy bye bye
Now it's time to die
Boom biddy bye bye
Now it's time to die

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
...yo Muggs, make it rough.
  
So many fools swingin' from my sack,
Let's talk about the one who had my back!
Down in the west coast, so lemme kick it
To the motherfucker who calls himself wicked!
No rest, no peace!  No sleep,
Doughboy rolling down the hill 'cause it's so steep!
Jackson... lemme figure out the name,
Jack 'cause you be stealing other niggaz game!
But I'm the wrong nigga you wanna fuck with
On my dick so hard, now ya wanna suck it!
Go on the head, gobble up the nuts,
Get your lips ready & tear this motherfucker up!
Talk about Ezy, correct yourself.
Cube, better step back & check yourself!
  
Hmmm... let's talk about this
First solo album on the east coast dick!
The east coast niggaz all showed ya love,
Especially the one known as King Sun!
He tried to warn us niggaz aboutcha
But nobody would listen, even started dissin'
Two albums later, you callin' my crew,
All because ya wannabe Cypress Cube!
Shoulda known you couldn't hang in the alley,
Good boy went to school out in the valley.
Fuck it, lemme make this understood,
Speakin' on mama's little Boy N Da Hood!
No Vaseline,
Just a rope & a chair & gasoline!
Lench Mob is a friend of mine,
But you talk about them niggaz from behind.
You know what the Hossack(sp) is, O'Shea?
A motherfucking pig that don't fly straight!
Where ya gonna run to?  Where ya gonna hide?
Taadow!  Look at who's running outside!
  
Natural Born Bullshitta! Lemme hitcha
With a dose of reality when I get witcha!
Your homie...????????????????????
Put a pipe on the cover, even though you don't smoke
Buddha!  Let me take you down under on a plane
Where everybody was going insane!
Took a look at the Real one,
AFRO COMB!  Next morning you didn't have yours on.
How many ways will you bite my shit?
Wouldja wet me or start throwing up a set?
Caution, when you enter the zone,
Never used to bang 'til you heard the microphone!
I got Cube melting in a Tray,
Pulling up his card & fucking up his good day!
Unoriginal rap veteran...
The nigga who say he don't steal from his friends!
Don't trust that nigga named O'Shea,
FUCK'IM, and send him on his way.
  
Happy singalongs!

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
Ezekial 25:17
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities 
of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the 
name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of 
darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost 
children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and 
furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. AND 
YOU WILL KNOW MY NAME IS THE LORD, WHEN I LAY MY VENGEANCE UPON THEE!"
  
[Shots fired]
  
Smokin' MC's like a bowl of Buddha
Burnin' in my bong NOW
You don't want to step to the rhythm of the funk degrees
You'll be a prisoner in the temple of thieves
Move it out, just move it on out, no doubt
We the number one crew
Kickin' more gas niggas out the house
Puttin' up an argument, just don't bother
`Cause I'll whoop that ass just like I'm your father
Take heed to the master's call yes y'all
(Bring your cell-phone cause I fade them all)
Bullets fly
But they don't give a fuck about who dies
When you're in the middle of the fuckin'
No question, confrontation
Nowhere to run from the assassination
Let the rain come down
Whoops there goes another body on the ground
Watch out for G hound
It's the undisputed Cypress family
Kickin' up dust can you handle us fragilly
Growin' inside your mind like a tumour
Spreading in your head like a rumor
Venomous!
I'm from the underground, I take care of business
What the fuck is this?
  
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
  
Suckas come in all shapes sizes and colors 
Let me get the rope
And hang `em `till their fuckin' necks broke
Wind passage cut off, now you can't breathe
Let me give you what you need
A fat dose of the good weed
Like a puppet on a string
I'm the one controlling your ass
With the rough shit here to bring
My army grows like the buddha I sold ya
Every seed planted is another fuckin' soldier
Like the `coup d'etate'
Now ya are in the middle of the ambush
Stuck in your car
They can't find ya
At the bottom of the lake
Let me remind ya
You better be lookin' behind ya
It's too late, ain't no one standin' here
Hallucination, bees hummin' in your ear
Paranoia, dwelling to your dome piece
Increase, the level of the terror that move ceased
  
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
  
Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move
Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move
Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move
Make a move, make a move, every posse make a move
  
Come on
Open up the doors for the high funk buddha
With the light point the dick can die
Rolling with the six shooter
Thirty-eight
Still shootin' real straight
Lookin' for the buster that I must eliminate
No surprise
As the inches demise
Let the four flow
As I look him right in the eyes
And rip these niggas in half
With the (fabergraph)
They can't find a path
I like the aftermath
Still I reign the sect we remain
The big bad Cypress Hill, fuckin' niggas up again
When I aim I'm scopin' for your brain
Brother stay low, cross-hairs break you up the frame
  
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
Move `em out!  Move `em on out!  Move `em out!
  
"Ahh, now that the mind is open so one can clearly see what they clearly
don't want you to see.   But it's obvious, isn't it my brother?  Get the
smoke from in the front of your eyes, got to realize, anybody don't like 
it: move `em on out."

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
Verse 1 (B-Real)
Let me introduce my self,
I'm the one who rules the set,
So don't you forget,
Bad for ya health but ya still be tryin' ta push buttons,
But you ain't nothin', no frontin',
I bring the level up a little louder,
In the clubs, an' the jeeps an' the after houres,
Fools on the street wanna feel the funk,
Lookin for the 'skunk' that's what'cha want,
Ya betta, sit back and let the track flow,
Like smoke in ya lungs from puffin' on the indo,
Rythems upside'cha brain,can ya hang, can maintain,
Can ya feel the funk flowin' in ya veins,
Get'cha fix and ya bag of tricks,
In tha mix I got the stix and stones a few bricks,
I'm gonna hit 'em high,
He's gonna hit 'em low, 
Open up ya mind so that'chu can feel the flow,
On, an' on till there all gone,
Fools be runnin' but they won't last long,
  
Chorus: I'm the freaka (8 x)
  
Verse 2 (B-Real)
People always wanna get what you got, no matta what,
Can't take care of themselves in the big hunt,
In the quest for the crown,
An' the jewels, and the cheese,
Mutha fucka please,
Enimies wanna plot against me with envy in they hearts,
But, I rip their sorry ass apart,
In a minute, I can take ya to the limit,
Temprature risen, nasal highzen,
  
Verse 3 (Sen Dog)
Comin' back in with the lows, for the fows,
Fuckin' up egos, an' anybody, oppose,
The numba one skunk freaka, the Cypress Hill bleaka(?),
Blowin' a hole in tha speaker,
You don't wanna dis the Perro, the Real One, or the Werro,
Slangin' rythms through the ghetto,
Ya best keep ya ass in cheak,
Come on little mutha fuckas betta show respect,
An whats next, the big brown takin' ya down,
How ya feel(how ya feel punk), 
when your sorry ass can't hang with the hill,
  
Chorus (4x) 
  
Verse 4 (B-Real)
Can ya feel the effects of the chocolate tide,
Nobody even knows how I kick the flow,
Slow down, cause ya commin' up too fast,
Ya might get smacked down cause ya got no class,
[Fades out]

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
(lyrics by G-real)
  
Hey ese look at these two motherfuckers right here homes
What you thinkin' homes
Wait `till he turns around homes
[Echoed] Watch-out
All right I got your back homes, let's go
Come on ese let's go
Let's do it
  
You don't wanna turn your back on me
When you least expect it
I come with the wicked method
I'm creepin' on ya
Now you find your homeboys bleedin' on ya
  
Just the locotes
Drumin' out the potes
Got a new hale'
Jackin' in the noche
Give me your feria
In your pocket or they'll carry ya
Off and bury ya
We got in the east side every guy
Four and three and two and one
Thievery don't stop `till I get done
Sometimes I don't even need my gatt
But shit's gettin' deep and I gotta blast back
  
`Two' thievery `One' robbery `One' robbery
'Cause jackin' is my hobby
Give out that money, jewlery and your keys
To the five-o outside on wheels
Later out with the `85 Mustang
One-time got me on the radar
Trucha'
And ya don't stop `till I'm done
Now the Puercos got me on the run
  
Police Radio:
"LA-14 in pursuit of two immigrant suspects armed on 187.  Headed 
westbound on central and Ninety-second.  Armed two suspects believed 
to be in 1985 red Mustang license plate Lincoln Charles David 
Bullshit Madelin three two. Armed and dangerous suspects known..."
  
You don't wanna turn your back on me
When you least expect it
I got your keys in my possession
With my Smith and Wesson
Takin' out all my aggression
  
Check it out ese
You're lookin' at the jefe
Off that clicker with a big bad trese
I'll teach you a lesson
No question
Get your ass out, now you're passin' out
When ya looked at the glente
  
Four and three and two and one
The robbery don't stop `till I get done
Some niggas do this shit for fun
Now the Puercos got me on the run.
  
From barrio
To barrio
Lookin' for any barrio
Cassario
Hangin' out with Mario
  
Lookin' for a place to hide
On the west side
Spank got my back over there it right
And it don't stop `till I'm done
Now the One-time got me on the run
  
[Police radio]
"LA-14, we have spotted the vehicle, suspects nowhere in sight... 
Aw shit!"
[Two shots ring out]
  
How you like me now puto?
Fuck you pig
Let' go homes
It's the fuckin' bus eh
Get on ese
Right here homes
  
One-times not down with us
Now they lookin' for my ride, but I'm on the bus
Don't turn your back on a rapper like me
`Cause I'm one broke motherfucker in need
Desperate
What's goin' on in the mente
Takin' from the rich an' not from my gente
Look at that gabacho slipping 
Borracho from the cerveza he's sipping
No me vale madre
Gabacho prey to your padre
This is one the time you wanna give me the jale
  
Four and three and two and one
This old muthafucka got him a gun
BLAM!
I took one to the knee-cap
Things happen so fast
Now I dropped my strap
Now I'm about to meet my maker
Though I had it all figured out with a paper
No longer will I be running
Last thing I heard was the fucking gatt humming

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
Verse 1(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,
  
Verse 2(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

Album: III (Temples Of Boom)
Group: Cypress Hill
  
(lyrics by G-real)
  
Fuck all y'all
I'm comin' of the wall
I got a nigga from The Source
Swingin' from my balls
Ughh!
Ya want me to set it
Well my MAC-11 takes unleaded
Let it rain
And jackin' out fire
What you're seein' when I'm takin' shit another level higher
Now it's on
Ain't gettin' domed
Buckin' all these niggas 'till they all gone
Now we can roll to the east side of town
And I'm lookin' for a fat boy and a lotta (state of clown)
You better move your ass to this MAC-11
Pointed at your ass for the 1-8-7
  
"Yeah motherfucker, gonna break your back with this shit.  
Hey motherfuckas: move back!  Yo, B-Real.."
  
I'm the head-hunter
You goin' under
Make a trophy
Call it the two-headed buster
On my mantle
Back in the temple
Givin' up the family
Up and down Central
Butt bloody
Anybody
Lookin' for a wide body
One body
  
Somebody
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
I ain't fallin' off like Humpty-Dumpty
Nigga you still wanna bump me
Still got the hand on pump
And now I'm thumpin' on 'em
Thumpin on 'em
See
Somebody, anybody scream
When I got the gatt with the big red beam
Now what if I moved it up right between your eyes
Now your chances are never
When you're lookin' at the slug at the of the barrel
Where ya gonna run when ya can't move further
Seven eighty one redruM with the Murder
Tie him up
Throw him in the trunk
Let the funk
Blow his earsdrums out
'Till he's bleedin'
Then let's get him weeded
It's the phunk Buddha
Let me do the
Ceremony up with the hoota
  
And the shooter
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson
  
Some be testin'
Keepin' 'em guessin'
Smile on my face
Got the Smith & Wesson