"Throw Your Hands in the Air" as written by Larry Muggerud, Louis M. Freeze, Erick S. Sermon, Reggie Noble and A. Tyler....
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!

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, why'all better recognize
I'm coming through with speed, with pounds of weed

Ahh shit, another one of those gangsta hits
Niggaz want to 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]

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, 'cause 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 'cause i freak shit you neva heard of

[Chorus]

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, want to 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 see-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]

[Outro: Sen Dog]
Alright, 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


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Throw Your Hands in the Air" as written by

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, DELLA MUSIC PUBLISHING, LLC

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