Cypress Hill — Strictly Hip-Hop

[Intro: DJ Muggs] Yeah… Funky… Come on… Busy… Yeah, yeah this one goes out to all you “real” emcees Rappin’ on R&B records and shit Talkin’ ‘bout keeping real hip-hop alive And… and to all you Cindy Crawford ass motherfuckers Doin’ fashion ads, wantin’ to be models Talking bout keeping it real What’s goin’ on And a couple years ago, everybody talking bout doin Sprite commercials and shit That motherfucker sold out, that motherfucker sold out and shit All the real niggas is doin’ sprite commercials now What niggas need money that motherfuckin bad or what I ain't goin out [Verse 1: B-Real] I never rapped on an R&B record, and I never will I got these phoney motherfuckers, talk about lets keep it real But they don't know how to take they own advisement Going out, do it solo on an advertisement, commercializing Fuckin' sell out, nigga, this is hip-hop, not fashion Get the hell out I'm taking out these so called gangsta niggas Takin' pictures, modeling clothes for small figures And I never took another fuckin' MC's shit And made it my first single, for a hit Fuckin' hypocrite, you can get the dip, when I lick a shot off I'm gonna, and all of it It's a damn shame when you got all these fools in the record industry Sellin' out for the fame I just sit back and watch these fools with their gimmicks Go down in flames , in the big game [Interlude: DJ Muggs] Yeah all you real hardcore (?) Get Busy… Always seem like… you got a album full of hardcore jams Just so happen to have two pop songs And they just so happen to be hit singles And to one certain writer named James Bernard Yeah you, motherfucker Nigga got mad ‘cause I wouldn’t let him suck my dick and I smacked him and told him to get the fuck outta here so he started writin’ bullshit Wait till I see you, bitch House Of Pain ain’t down with us… [Verse 2: B-Real] Zippidey-dooda, I smoke weed and I got brain damage But, I don't give a fuck cause I still manage To represent to the fullest No pop singles, and no actin' foolish To the studio gangsta with the metaphors In them magazines with the bitch editors Keep it real in the game Niggas got no shame Now all the executives want all the fame Based on the videos, just a gang of silly hoes For the fucking industry that's taking all your dough I never stole it, stole it all Just hard work, and sweat, for them platinum records on the wall Fools want me to fall I won't cause my roots are to thick and strong, like the chocolate thai stick I hear niggas say no, but, I know they front Cause after they shows they want me to smoke a blunt I don't respect a hypocrite, motherfuckers I despise Cause me I tell the truth, even when I tell a lie All you brothers in the game run a check Cause you get checked fucked off, with no respect Motherfuckers