Lyrics No Rest for the Wicked - Cypress Hill

No Rest for the Wicked

«Bitch-ass motherfucka!
Peter Pie ass nigga!
Stand on your own two feet
bitch!
How the fuck you gon' bite
somebody else’s dick nigga?
Yours ain’t
long enough to put in your mouth!
: 'Turn that shit up louder!'
What’s up with that shit?
Muggs, make it rough."
So many fools swingin' from my sack
Let’s talk about the one who had my back
Down in the west coast, so lemme kick it
To the motherfucker who calls himself wicked
No rest, no peace, no sleep
Doughboy rolling down the Hill 'cause it’s all steep
Jackson, lemme figure out the name
Jack 'cause you be stealing other niggaz game
But I’m the wrong nigga you wanna fuck with
On my dick so hard, now ya wanna suck it
Go on the head, gobble up the nuts
Get your lips ready and tear this motherfucker up
Talk about Eazy, correct yourself
Cube better sit back and check himself
«Yeah nigga, my homie thought he
had a homie in you.
He let you listen to
our muthafuckin' cut, and you turned
around and put some old variety shit
out.
What kind of shit is that?
Hmmm…»
Let’s talk about this
First solo album on the east coast dig
The east coast niggaz all showed ya love
Especially the one known as the King Sun
He tried to warn us niggaz about ya
But nobody would listen
Even began dissin'
Two albums later, you callin' my crew
All because ya wanna be Cypress Cube
Shoulda known that you couldn’t hang in the alley
Good boy went to school out in the valley
Fuck it, lemme make this understood
Speakin' on Mama’s little 'Boys in the Hood'
No Vaseline
Just a rope and a chair and gasoline
Lynch Mob is a friend of mine
But you talked about them niggaz from behind
You know what the hossack is O’Shea
A motherfucking pig that don’t fly straight
Where ya gonna run to, where ya gonna hide
Taadow, look at who’s waitin' outside
«I got a can of kick-ass wit' your
mothafuckin' name on it cube.
You wanna
come collect it, or should I bring it to you?
'Cause all that bullshit you
doin', ain’t shit fly about that shit…
motherfuckin' thing, and I ain’t
bullshittin'.
You beat them back then fuck off,
and that’s real.
Kick
rocks buster.»
Natural Born Bullshitta
Lemme hit ya
With a dose of reality when I get wit' ya
Your homie came knockin', he had to chain my suit
You put a pipe on your cover,
even though you don’t smoke buddha
Let me take you down under on a plane
While everybody was going insane
Took a look at the Real one: afro gone
The next morning, you didn’t have yours on
How many ways will you bite my shit
Would ya wet me or start throwing up a set
Caution, when you enter the zone
Never used to bang 'til you hit the microphone
I got Cube melting in a tray
Pulling up his card and fucking up his good day
Unoriginal rap veteran
The nigga who say he don’t steal from his friends
Don’t trust that nigga named O’Shea
Fuck 'im, and send him on his way!
«Cypress muthafuckin' Hill,
the hardest mothafuckin' posse there is out here
nigga.
So how d’you figure you was gonna step to this?
Yeah nigga, the big damn-wham-bam Cypress Hill.
Tibby-tibby-toe fool, all for your mothafuckin'
dope.
Nigga you can’t hang with the hill.
W' the fuck you was thinkin'
about?
You know you step to this,
you gotta step correct, 'cause Cypress
ain’t havin' that shit.
Yeah nigga,
we crack and fuck you next, who gives a
fuck, a mad fuck?
So bring it on, if you wanna test it.»