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