Cypress Hill is a prominent rap music group (formed in 1988), which has sold 17 million records around the world. It is composed of members B-Real (Louis Freese or Freeze, Mexican/Cuban), Sen Dog (Senen Reyes, Afro-Cuban), DJ Muggs (Lawrence Muggerud, Italian-American) and, since 1994, percussionist Eric Bobo. The name Cypress Hill refers to the place where the first members of the band have lived, who grew up mostly in Cypress Avenue in South Gate, Los Angeles. It also refers to a graveyard (where cypress trees grow) as an element of the "Gangsta Rap ideology." One aspect of their popularity is their commitment to the legalization of cannabis consumption.
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Funk Freakers Lyrics
Cypress Hill
Verse one: b-real
Let me introduce my self
Im the one who rules the set
So dont you forget
Bad for ya health but ya still be tryin ta push buttons
But you aint nothin, no frontin
I bring the level up a little louder
In the clubs, an the jeeps an the after hours
Fools on the street wanna feel the funk
Lookin for the skunk thats whatcha want
Ya betta, sit back and let the track flow
Like smoke in ya lungs from puffin on the indo
Rythems upsidecha brain, can ya hang, can maintain
Can ya feel the funk flowin in ya veins
Getcha fix and ya bag of tricks
In tha mix I got the stix and stones a few bricks
Im gonna hit em high
Hes gonna hit em low
Open up ya mind so thatchu can feel the flow
On, an on till there all gone
Fools be runnin but they wont last long
Chorus:
Im the freaka (8x)
Verse two: b-real
People always wanna get what you got, no matta what
Cant take care of themselves in the big hunt
In the quest for the crown
An the jewels, and the cheese
Motherfucker please
Enemies wanna plot against me with envy in they hearts
But, I rip their sorry ass apart
In a minute, I can take ya to the limit
Temprature risen, nasal highzen
Verse three: sen dog
Comin back in with the lows, for the fows
Fuckin up egos, an anybody, oppose
The numba one skunk freaka, the cypress hill cliqua
Blowin a hole in tha speaker
You dont wanna dis the perro, the real one, or the werro
Slangin rythems through the ghetto
Ya best keep ya ass in cheak
Come on little mutha fuckas betta show respect
An whats next, the big brown takin ya down
How ya feel (how ya feel punk)
When your sorry ass cant hang with the hill
Chorus: 1/2
Outro: b-real
Can ya feel the effects of the chocolate tide
Nobody even knows how I kick the flow
Slow down, cause ya commin up too fast
Ya might get smacked down cause ya got no class
[fades out]