Cypress Hill

Dead Men Tell No Tales

Pam Pa Ra Ra

Any die, if the beholder the soldier begins to bore

Four score, seven bullets (Yeah hit the floor nigga!)

Take you outdoor, darkness frightens you even more

I'm here to enlighten you, with the hardcore

Bring it raw, like the red, dead meat, in your plate

And I'll fill you up with the energy the Hill create

I gets sticky, like a green bag of the bomb diggy

Now I'm fuckin with your head, and you realize that it's tricky

Got you paranoid, feeling the void, you can't take it

The reward bein destroyed, freakazoid toy

With ya mind, all styles deployed, you find danger

in the stranger's eye, the killin comes second nature

Your battle filled up the mind it's fallin out, hear you callin out

for help, and all the fuckin yellin to is yourself

Crawlin and beggin for mercy means nothing when you bluffin

I'm pushin the button and straight dumpin on fools frontin

Boo-yah!... come on, motherfucker

Pam Pa Ra Ra

WAR pigs, you dig, see kickin out Mr. Big

Take a sip of wine, engage in a battle of the mind (Checkmate motherfucker!)

You feelin the force, meant for remorse, right from the source

Your head is, gettin fucked and I'm skippin the intercourse

Behold, the Mic Horse, you're takin a loss nigga

Got the Nina Ross, don't need no cross, my fuckin paper

chaser green bag gladiator, terminator weed germaniator

The greater the risk you fuckin hater

Hit you with the pyscho beta, clickin the fader slow

with the Hi-Lo, servin the blow, who got the glow

Dead men tale no tales, you fail to see the reason

I'm easing to squeeze the trigger, go figure, it's killin season

Nighty-night, mothafucka

Pam Pa Ra Ra