Throw Your Hands In The Air (remix) Lyrics - Cypress Hill

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 

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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 

Photos 

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