Throw Your Hands in the Air

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