Cypress Hill - Hand On The Clock

On a chicken-hunt, huntin' for a chicken
Get paranoid when you hear my Glock clickin'
Speakin' to the punk that's tweakin'
With the bitch-ass styles I hit you like Deacon

Jones house, cough without the bones
I rolled ya up and smoked you like cones
Split the seed and grow you like clones
Don't start-me-up, cause I'm not the Rolling Stones
But I get stoned with a little help from my friends
With the (gubla), then I passed it round back to me again

I can make you famous like Amos
Same as the last punk, when I stuck the gatt up his anus
Hear me growl: Grrra! Howl!
I got the night vision just like the wise old owl

I'm comin' ta fetch ya
Yeah home direct ya
Bury them bones
Under my home and

Cock the hammer!
Cock the hammer, it's time for action!
Cock the hammer!
Cock the hammer, it's time for action!

Take my weapon, step into a whole new realm
And step back, as I take up the helm
On the pirate ship I'm steerin'
Droppin' the geran
Just realize what you're hearin'

The cannon sounded
That's my companion: surrounded
As my crew comes bounding
As the captain
Afro-america
Whole lotta gattin'
With the loc'ed out latin

Busted!
You're a red beard with a musket
Better talk quick 'cause ya might get dusted
Your gatt looks rusted, disgusted
Oh look away, look away boy as I rush it
Yes I know that you can't withstand it
Watch that ass cause punk I'll brand it

With a steel-toe, how you feel now
When my boot stuck in that ass like a dildo
Cry on a pillow, weeper that's willow
The Hill got the skill for the static like brillo

Hmmm,

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