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