Cypress Hill - Red, Meth & B Lyrics
Y'all ready for this?Ha! I don't think so!Yeah! Oh, listen to this!We gonna come at ya![Redman]Cypress Hill!Yo yo yo - all my niggas say jump up, doc broke out the kennelA dog on four paws spittin' out the windowJump up! It aint no need to fightWe may squeeze the pipe, you gonna bleed tonightI eat beans and rice, shit up a stormI walk the streets with shark fin off my armsDoctor Dolittle, lit off the boneMy bracelet like I raised it off the farmHome-grown, thick, dirtyMy family feud dudes who pack 2's on surveyJersey and houseGun like an elephants snoutPull ya ambulance outYa whole team'll get bombardedYa on target, and bombed by some unsigned artistsWe leave ya hair cut like a blind barberCut it, and gave you a line with fine markersI won't leave till the job is doneTill the last prick nigga take ya wallet, RUNDoc with the shotty and we both catch a body with Cypress HillYeah!(Chorus: B-Real)We don't give a *****, we live it up till the day we dieYou try to deal with us, but you got no blunts to get highYou won't be real with us, but ya reelin' us and you want to rideYou try to deal with us, but you got no blunts to get high[Method Man]Yo, yoBlunt smokin', half a bottle of remi openYou either holdin' or half-assed like semi-colonI leave ya chokin' on them lollipop rhymes ya callin'So hard, hell I crack the shell on ya candy coatin'If the shoes fit like Alan I be too thickEver since you hit, yo my new chicks a new *****Ya know if I can't eat, ya can't sleepPlus I'm in denial, I just can't admit defeatMy mind is my glock, keep my third eye *****edBust mines off tops, leave a rapper's nerves shockedNow who's hot and who's notI want them rocks and that money in ya two socksMeth the mister, if crime is an art, then let me paint a pictureI'm gone, Kodak can't even frame the riddlerGold realin', Meth, doc, Cypress HillerWhoever think they *****in' with that, lets be realer(Chorus)[B-Real]Take the back seat and smash beatsSmoke blunts through ya lungs and flips ya brain cells like athletesRun a track meet, the rhymes on ya rap sheetWith the foot long crush bong, look your collapsing, sickoThey go on the break-off, mental breakdown and shit you wouldn't think ofI spread it to Reggie, chances are better but deadlyYou wanna be friendly on the get high BentleyYou twisted up, burnt out within secondsCos you couldn't hang with the John Blaze methodsBong hittin', doc spittin', shark bittenStar stricken, glock clickin', stop shittin'Inhale the smoke from the master's lungsYou wanna roll up, yo I'm the fastest one (ha!)You wanna test with the sess, well first offThat shit is funny like Kid Rock with his shirt off(Chorus) X2 
