| Disc 1 | ||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
 |
1. |
| 3:33 | 
|
||
|
[Wyclef] Refugee camp, with Cypress Hill
[B-Real] Yo, bringin it on [Wyclef] Cubans meet the Haitians Perfect combination, check it Verse One: Wyclef, B-Real [Wyclef] You say guns [B-Real] I say pistolas [Wyclef] Well if you got beef son [B-Real] Callate la boca [Wyclef] Go meet me on the island where the Cubans meet the Haitians [B-Real] A bullet beats the verbal lyrical assassination [Wyclef] From L.A. to Brooklyn why you doin all that talkin [B-Real] Think you got a soul but you're a Dead Man Walking [Wyclef] Yo toast the host from coasts' we boast When we meet again, I will be Casper that Friendly Ghost [B-Real] You'll hear shots, like the show Cops Things are still the same, I'm still growin crops [Wyclef] Wyclef with B-Real, let me build better yet [B-Real] Killa bee kill [Wyclef] Yo B-Real watch your grip Chorus: B-Real, Wyclef, Lauryn Hill [B-Real] Hi, boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhhahhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] You open up your eyes you'll be the next one to die [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] Ohh as simple as they come as as simple as they die [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [Wyclef] Yo who told the boyy, to pack a forty-five [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhhahhh [B-Real] Boom biddy bye bye [Lauryn Hill] Ahhahhhh, ahhahhhh [Wyclef] Now he rest in the place that they call paradise Verse Two: B-Real, Wyclef Fools run up, but they've never seen the last Spread your last lyrics get broken like glass Can he pass or does he posess the will Or does he need to create to keep him straight on the real Punks are broken some dey fall off the ledge Refugee Camp bringin it straight over the edge You duck as I fluff the feathers from ya skin How ya gonna win that's like Satan without no sin (without no sin) They'll never happen while I'm rappin I be watchin The Philistines, creepin up in Manhattan The sun turn up though Wyclef produce a track with Muggs But there's no survivors, they all died in the flood Chorus Verse Three: Wyclef, B-Real Yo, once a child, twice a villain If this was drugs I'd make a million off this combination They say you'redope Clef you're dope so they offer me sess and beer Beware, you pull your wallet Mr. Thief stares The opposite direction of the room, he pulled his gun and said I'm doomed join the son of man in the tomb I see the soldiers, comin from out the shadows Ready for battle, ain't trying to hear the baffled Warriors lined up in full war gear In it to win it if it goes on for years Dedicated to the stable of the Assassins Revolutionaries, just bring on the action Chorus [WYCLEF] Soldier man Rewind selector soldier man Refugee soldier man Brooklyn soldier man L.A massive soldier man New Jersey massive soldier man Uptown massive soldier man Long beach massive soldier man You know the whole world watches soldier man Boom biddy bye bye open up ya eyes you'll be the next one to die....... |
||||||
| 2. |
| 4:08 |
|
|||
|
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 |
||||||
| 3. |
| 4:26 |
|
|||
|
Intro:
What′s up we gonna go down the line baby Brand new one from the Call O Da Wild Give big shouts to money makin Manhattan 145th street crews, 155th street crews All my niggaz on the East Side We gonna flip the track baby, flip the script like this Big shouts to all the weed spots and all that who know how we do Me things no money sat on Monies chicks Fillin Barcadi on club seats Harm′s represent the crease on wise fully feet harmly accriminate Futuristic kittens of the street all malfunction seats Crews stand like mannequins sportin names is Tim′s I′ll make half your flaps burn is self-discipline And supportin your kittens if you′re convinced They keep the scripts movie-men Experience and hard is (unknown) has captured run for the (unkown) Mischievous black kids dipped in black hooches Ruthless-a the caswendler stupid used to pump with the any gooier Now let the card hold the futures Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual trauma causing dime Barron Ricks B Ricks stands anonymous decant flicks And non-raps that can′t bonely manifest the Buddha blessed Freshly dressed rollin in the clubs for success I′m not dressed in materialistic games to get the sex The five six I′m livin fortune of survival tactics Keepin my enemies close and all my niggaz out of business What is this? Slicey characters spreadin my business Fragments that can′t manage that do damage yo I had it Environmental pressure causing static In fabric of the asiac cabbage it′s madness All this I′m civilized now what do I now? Run these avenues buckwild with crews now who is it? Makin all you critics fiend these lyrics And be the core Yes y′all comin through on your premises This is it Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Interlude KnowI′msayin? Big shouts to my sacred projects connections know I′m sayin? All my brothers on 113th Lexus to-dial knowI′msayin? Big shouts to the LES baby we see you Put on Stella performances While niggaz place bids at auto auctions Re-model frames and changin rusty engines and courting And while you Forman fools wanna shorten my life My life is like survival organs It′s not important that you′re this lyrical dissertation Tossing lineal seeing precitals break your vinyl Chronically spotting spiral perhaps spinning out wax Yo ?Nas? put the black wars on elegant floors The teachers got operations make em insecure Gypsy cabs I flag Donnas DC slam that ass take a detour Affiliates with my predominately black landscape Hop the squad I watch the sling shot from rotting up your pin spot Jostling nigga glocked him playing possum I got the X-ray vision Ain′t nothing poppin while the tears who interfere And the fears they disappear Chorus B-Real Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma Don′t want to do it but they wanna Just the Intellectual ganja puffin DONS Outro: Ah man that′s the Call O′ Da Wild flavor baby I can′t take it no more I′m outta here baby But before we get up out I wanna give big shouts To all the Buddha spots that made this possible Big shouts to the 99 cents store baby The discount health foods know I′m sayin? All the brothers on the Lexus ail with that good, goodness Big shouts to the party bag shop To all you other food spots on your roster crew with the end shit Yeah we out baby don′t forget to flip this to the other side Get with that Call O′ Da Wild baby, it′s like that yeah |
||||||
| 4. |
| 4:42 |
|
|||
|
Well I'm an alley cat
Some say a dirty rat On my side is my gat See I'm all of that Spittin' out buck shots, for I'm gonna wetcha Running hard, but I'm still coming to getcha Thinking like a peace smoke, comin' on a homicide You talkin' shit, try to take me for a ride I'm not a bad guy But I'm the funky feel one Finger on the trigger with my hands upon the steel Lettin' out a bullet, this is going boo-ya You're stuck in my hood, so what ya gonna do now? Being the hunted one is no fun Here I come son Yo I think you better run Better run more, and move a little faster Second of thought and I'm coming to blast ya With my Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa Comin' at you like a stiff blow, fuckin' up your program Ain't takin' shit from you him or no man Master mind maniac and a menace Oh, how they want to pass a sentence All because a nigga tried to play me on the trigger He missed So now the nigga's hist' Rude and crude like a pitbull Get to the point, your fuckin' going to get pulled Now, I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And I'm handin' out beatdowns I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And I'm handin' out beatdowns Get your face down! Put me in chains Try to beat my brains I can get out, but the grudge remains When I see ya punk ass, I'm gonna get ya Gatt ya Fucking do ya Shotgun goes boo-ya! Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa Kickin' that funky Cypress Hill shit, Think I'll light another for the blunted to chill with 'Cause I'm the chill one Known to get ill when They stepped to the Hill "What's up?", I had to kill one Now I'm headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And they got me on lock down Headed up the river with a boat and no paddle And they got me on lock down Livin' like a nigga who done lost his mind 'Cause I ain't goin out like a spineless jellyfish Some say life is a bitch Ask that punk who dug his own ditch Up on the Hill fuckin' up at a party Tried to get funny, put a hole in his body Lala la la lala la laa Look at all of those funeral cars 'Cause I'm a Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump Lala la la lala la laaaa |
||||||
| 5. |
| 3:11 |
|
|||
|
B-Real:
Whatta you know? The nigga stole my dough So I reached in the closet for the 4-4 [Whatta you know?] Jus' hold on, just wait a minute It's gone, along with my big bad nickel-plated Whatta you know? The fucker took my phone I still can't believe that he robbed my home! Whatta you know? I think he got to the herb And the ferria, and the jewlery, and the Mausberg Whatta you know? I can't find my keys to the 6-5 All the way live on D's Whatta you know? I can't find my Rolex With the 21 diamonds, shinin' on flecks Whatta you know? When I find that mark-ass nigga, I'ma cut out his fuckin' heart! Sen-Dog: Whatta you know? I came up on this baller For the dollar and the weed sack, and his Impala! Whatta you think, when you can't trust your so-called homie Like me, and you thought that you know me? Whatta you feel, when you're lookin' in the closet And the gat's gone, and so is your cellular phone? Whatta you know? I took your loot and the jewels With the buddah and the laptop in the nickel-plated tool! Whatta you know? Now I run the show With the phat pockets and the nigga's fly gold Wahtta you think, when ya ass gets jacked By a homie who was supposed to have your back? B-Real: Whatta you know? I'm rollin' in my zone And I think I see the puto who rigged my home [Whatta you think?] I got the glock in the glove Should I dump on the man, leave him lying in the mud? Wahtta you know? He pulled out my 4-4 Now I got no choice, so I let it all flow [Whatta you know?] The motherfucker's all blastin' 4-5 equal, in time for some tractions [Whatta you know?] Slide action, no question Forty-five slug is bad for your complexion [Whatta you know?] The puto's cryin' like a bitch Now the puto's lyin' in a fuckin' ditch! B-Real (spoken): [Whatta you know?] You can't even trust your fuckin' best homeboy these days, homes. [Whatta you know?] You got to sleep with one nine fuckin' open ... [Whatta you know?] Payback's a motherfuckin' bitch! [Whatta you know?] That puto should've watched his fuckin' back. [Whatta you know?] (repeated till end) |
||||||
| 6. |
| 4:24 |
|
|||
|
Hits From The Bong
Hits From The Bong Hits From The Bong Hits From The Bong Pick it, pack it, Fire it up, Come along, And take a hit from the bong, Put the blunt down just for a second, Don't get me wrong it's not a new method, Inhale, Exhale, Just got a ounce in the mail, I like a blunt or a big fat cone, But my double barrel bong is gettin' me stoned, I'm skill it, There's water inside don't spill it, It smells like shit on the carpet, Still it, goes down smooth when I get a clean hit, Of the skunky funky smelly green shit, Sing my song, puff all night long, As I take Hits from the bong... Hits From The Bong y'all Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Gonna get high, Hits From The Bong Let's smoke that bowl, hit the bong, And then take that finger off of that hole, Plug it, unplug it, Don't straaaain, I love you Mary Jane, She never complains, when I hit Mary, With that flame, I light up the cherry, She's so good to me, when I pack a fresh bowl I clean the screen, Don't get me stirred up the smoke, through the bub-bling water, Is Makin' it pure so I got ta', take my hit and hold it, Just like Chong, I hit the bowl and I reload it, Get my four-footer and bring it on... As I take Hits from the bong, Hits From The Bong Can I get a hit Hits From The Bong Can I get a hit Hits From The Bong Can I get a hit Hits From The Bong Can I get a hit Hits From The Bong Can I get a hit Straighten your dick out... Can I get a hit ... |
||||||
| 7. |
| 3:49 |
|
|||
|
Some people tell me that I need help
Some people can fuck off and go to hell God damn, why they criticize me Now shit is on the rise so my family despise me Fuck em! And feed em cause I don't need em I won't join em if I can beat em They don't understand my logic To my gat to my money and I'm hooked on chronic I never wanted to hurt a nigga Unless ya come flexin that trigga, I dig ya That grave on the east side of town Lay ya six feet underground From man, to the dust to the ashes All I remember tell me where the cash is Clic Cloc barrel at my dome Give all your loot or you ain't going home But I ain't going out wit the pain Wa da da dang, wa dada daa dang Chorus: I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind Muthafuckas be drivin me up the walls Hopin that I fall but they can suck my balls Straight jacket, strap it In a padded room when some punk niggaz can't hack it Distracted from our reality Now I'm let out on a minor technicality They all fucked up now Cause they let a nigga back on the street somehow I'm lookin for someone like me Livin in my own world to my own degree On the loose in the city lookin at the ho wit the big titties Lookin at me and I feel shitty A little tensed up gettin hot Cause she looks like my girl who just smoked at the crack spot I'm tryin to find ways to cope But I ain't fuckin round wit the gauge or a rope Chorus: I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions drivin me mad inside I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions fuckin me up in my mind I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions I'm havin illusions |
||||||
| 8. |
| 4:37 |
|
|||
|
Freak to the funk that no-one else is bringing
Sen Dog with the funky bilenge Yeah that's the nombre, heard the homey Peace to Mellow and Frost, and the deporte Sen Dog is not kid from the Telano I'm down, another fried hispano One of the many of the latin deseyano [de-say-ahnyo] And I got plenty for the Jennies tryin to hound dog But wait, they're clownin on me cause of my language I have to tell em straight up, it's called spanglish Now who's on the fiend, gala gringo Tryin to get paid, from the funky bilingual Chorus: B-Real and Sen Dog Latin lingo baby (funky bilingual) funky bilingual Yeah, funky bilingual! Latin lingo baby (funky bilingual) funky bilingual It's the latin lingo! [Sen Dog] From the entro, when I come in, suckers fronted They mida, another bilingual from bein a banga, como ejemplo, check the tempo Ahh, it's that chingonla instrumental Ya no usted, como somos Yo no jovo, I gots the soul dose And you can hear it, in las skonkas Tribal ceremony as the Hill gets stronger Don't be such a leper what chupa la cabeza Hey homes, pass the cervaza Before I have to go and push up on your resa Hmm, she's fine, son que fresca Here homes have a hit of this yesca Deep yo enseno [en-senyo] the lingua la prento Now you know, that I am in the centro Where you live, si tu puedes Nowadays you ain't shit without your puentes Something like it's gangbang, vatos get it BANG BANG Could of hung out with them now you callin me a insane Senta la mi cado, senta mi conmigo Make way, for the the funky bilingual Chorus: B-Real and Sen Dog Latin lingo baby (funky bilingual) funky bilingual Funky bilinguals hoe! Latin lingo baby (funky bilingual) funky bilingual It's the latin lingo, baby! Latin lingo baby (funky bilingual) funky bilingual Funky bilingual... Some of that old Latin funk, knowhatI'msayin? [Sen Dog] (What's up homey? Don't you know me?) Si mon (Ain't you the brother of the mas pingo?) Straight up And I'm down with La Raza Kid Frost got my back, BOO-YAA! in la casa Cause everyday things get a little crazier As I step to the microphone area First I claim my city, pudo los angeles [an-heles] Yeah (you know homes) that's where the calles is Vato wouldn't know me, along with the heinas Catchin all them slippin, for they such a one-timer So when you see me at the party or the baile Before I got here I was gaffled in the calle Troop like a vacho who said I was baracho Had an attitude, tried to play me macho Just relax, calmado mijo Sen Dog with the funky bilingual Chorus: B-Real and Sen Dog Latin lingo baby, funky bilingual Funky bilingual Latin lingo baby, funky bilingual Funky bilingual Latin lingo baby, funky bilingual Funky bilingual... funky baby! Yeah, I'd like to send peace, to my homeboy B-Real Mellow Man Ace, Kid Frost, Ralph M the Mexican And we're out |
||||||
| 9. |
| 2:55 |
|
|||
|
Goin down, goin down
Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down (B-Real) Livin on phat pockets on flat wit tha gat Rollin around nine deuce Cadillac Still got my homies to watch my back And they'll smoke ya ass if ya wanna come chat That's why some pigs an tha kids come sweatin They follow a hollow point shells hard ta swallow Why wallow when ya come ta roll on I put tha clip An dust bring ya ass on Kickin dust on ya head as tha gat busts my grip surrounded I'm about ta get rushed I brushed wit death How many shells stuffed in my closet (???) (Chorus) (B-Real) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (ya better be ready) Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down (B-Real) I told tha boyz get tha sawed off glock And tha rest of tha gats as I strapped on tha bullet-proof vest BOOM I think I got one to tha chest hot damn I didn't want to kill a man Shit I still stand tall with tha hill clan y'all Better stand back niggaz bout ta fall I'm comin out blastin like Yosemite Sam Get tha cheese an tha bread for tha ham (Chorus) (B-Real) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (when tha ship goes down) When tha ship goes down ya better be ready (ya better be ready) Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down Goin down, goin down |
||||||
|
