Unreleased & Revamped

[whatta you know?] (3x)

B-real:
Whatta you know? the nigga stole my dough
So i reached in the closet for the 4-4
[whatta you know?] jus' hold on, just wait a minute
It's gone, along with my big bad nickel-plated
Whatta you know? the fucker took my phone
I still can't believe that he robbed my home!
Whatta you know? i think he got to the herb
And the ferria, and the jewlery, and the mausberg
Whatta you know? i can't find my keys to the 6-5
All the way live on d's
Whatta you know? i can't find my rolex
With the 21 diamonds, shinin' on flecks
Whatta you know? when i find that mark-ass nigga,
I'ma cut out his fuckin' heart!

Sen-dog:
Whatta you know? i came up on this baller
For the dollar and the weed sack, and his impala!
Whatta you think, when you can't trust your so-called homie
Like me, and you thought that you know me?
Whatta you feel, when you're lookin' in the closet
And the gat's gone, and so is your cellular phone?
Whatta you know? i took your loot and the jewels
With the buddah and the laptop in the nickel-plated tool!
Whatta you know? now i run the show
With the phat pockets and the nigga's fly gold
Wahtta you think, when ya ass gets jacked
By a homie who was supposed to have your back?

B-real:
Whatta you know? i'm rollin' in my zone
And i think i see the puto who rigged my home
[whatta you think?] i got the glock in the glove
Should i dump on the man, leave him lying in the mud?
Wahtta you know? he pulled out my 4-4
Now i got no choice, so i let it all flow
[whatta you know?] the motherfucker's all blastin'
4-5 equal, in time for some tractions
[whatta you know?] slide action, no question
Forty-five slug is bad for your complexion
[whatta you know?] the puto's cryin' like a bitch
Now the puto's lyin' in a fuckin' ditch!

B-real (spoken):
[whatta you know?] you can't even trust your fuckin' best homeboy these days, homes.
[whatta you know?] you got to sleep with one nine fuckin' open ...
[whatta you know?] payback's a motherfuckin' bitch!
[whatta you know?] that puto should've watched his fuckin' back.

[whatta you know?] (repeated till end)

Some people tell me that i need help
Some people can fuck off and go to hell
God dam why they criticize me
Now shit is on the rise and my family despise me
Fuck em and feed em cuz i don't need em
I won't join em if i can beat em
They don't understand my logic
To my gat, to my money, and i'm hook on chronic.
I never wanted to hurt a nigga
Unless you come flexing that trigger
I'll dig ya that grave on the east side of town
Now your six feet underground
From man to the dust to the ashes
All i remember tell me where the cash is!
Click clack barrel at my dome
Give all your loot or you ain't going home
But i ain't going out on a bang
Wa dada dang wa dada da dang

(hook)

I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Driving me mad inside
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Fuckin me up in the mind.

Mother fuckas be driving me up the walls
Hoping that i fall but they can lick my balls
Straight jacket strap it
In the padded room where some punk niggas can't hack it
Distracted from all reality now i'm let out
On a minor technicality .... they all fucked up now
Cuz they let a nigga back on the street some how
I'm looking for some one like me
Living in my own world to my own degree
On the loose in the city looking at the ho with the titties
Looking at me and i feel shitty
A lil tensed up getting hot
Cuz she looks like my girl who got smoked at the crack spot
I'm trying to find ways to cope
But i ain't fuckin around with a gage or a rope.

(hook)

I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Driving me mad inside
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Fuckin me up in the mind.

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