Locos Lyrics - Cypress Hill

[Intro: ?] 

Orale loco 

Pontes las pilas gwey?.. 

Este vato tiene un chingo de feria 

Listo !? Esta es la mascara 

Vamonos. Solo dale 

Related 

18 Non-Traditional Yet Perfect Wedding Songs 

Find Your Next Concert With Live Nation's Tour Stop 

Watch Ariana Grande Sing Her Hits On Carpool Karaoke 

[Verse 1: B-Real & Sen Dog] 

Five and four, and three, and two, and one 

And we smash through the door with the quickness up 

Looking for the crop, and I heard you pussies talk about 

Don't try nothin', if you lead me to the [?] 

Don't say a word, it'd be over, suicide 

[?] smoked out, where the (cash? Dash in the room) 

Five and four, and three, and two, and one 

That's how many seconds left before your ass is done (click-clack) 

Now you heard the sound, tell me somethin' new 

This homie here won't hesitate to put a hole in you 

(Death threat, get your ass up), that's a good boy 

Would you rather put the cameras out for your [?] 

Don't even think about the strap up in your backpack 

Cooperative when I leave you're still alive 

In fact, I only want your cash crop, not your life jack' 

(you can get [?] crop), but not your life back 

So settle down, I don't wanna let the metal spray 

Lead the way, give it up and live another day 

Trees and sacks, backpack full of cash, out the door 

Hit the ride, hear my tires screechin' in the back 

Photos 

[Chorus: Sick Jacken] 

Yeah 

[?] 

[Interlude] 

[?] 

[Verse 2: B-Real & Sen Dog] 

Weed and dough, and hoes, and hit and run 

As we graspin' for more with our pockets full 

Layin' down the plot, blueprints for another pull 

Smokin' up the spot while I quit, we're invincible 

Jack your spot and we take your shit and run 

Got my eye on my [?], it's just around the way 

Searchin' for the dogs, no guards, so it's down to play 

Judgin' by the odds we can hit it and lets hondalē 

[?] here we come 

Grippin' outta site 

Takin' it to other heights 

Homie, go around the back 

Go in when I kill the lights 

Sack up everything 

Don't mean nothin' with a fuckin' knife 

Five and four, and three, and two, and one 

Now we in the buildin', take it all until it's done 

Fifty pounds, smell it all around, yeah we comin' up 

Easy pickin', don't be tellin' hoes, leave fucked up 

[Chorus: Sick Jacken] 

Yeah