No Rest For The Wicked lyrics

by

B-Real


[Intro]
"b*tch-ass motherf*cka! Peter Pie ass n*gga! Stand on your own two feet, b*tch! How the f*ck you gon' bite somebody else's di*k, n*gga? Yours ain't long enough to put in your mouth, punk! What's up with that sh*t?"
(Background): "'Turn that sh*t up louder!'"
"Muggs, make it rough."

[Verse 1: B-Real]
So many fools swingin' from my sack
Let's talk about the one who had my back!
Down in the west coast, so lemme kick it
To the motherf*cker who calls himself "wicked"
No rest, no peace, no sleep
Doughboy rolling down the hill 'cause it's so steep
Jackson... lemme figure out the name
Jack cause you be stealing other n*ggas' game! (Lying-ass motherf*cker!)
But I'm the wrong n*gga you wanna f*ck with
On my di*k so hard, now ya wanna suck it!
Go on the head, gobble up the nuts
Get your lips ready & tear this motherf*cker up!
Talk about Eazy, correct yourself
Cube, better step back and check yourself!

[Interlude]
"Yeah, n*gga! My homie thought he had a homie in you. He let you listen to our motherf*ckin' cut, and you turned around and put some old "Friday" sh*t out. What kind of sh*t is that?"

[Verse 2: B-Real]
Hmmm... let's talk about this
First solo album on the east coast di*k
The east coast n*ggas all showed ya love
Especially the one known as King Sun
He tried to warn us n*ggas about ya
But nobody would listen
Even began dissin'
Two albums later, you callin' my crew
All because you wanna be Cypress Cube (No way, motherf*cker!)
Shoulda known you couldn't hang in the alley
Good boy went to school out in the valley
f*ck it, lemme make this understood
Speakin' on mama's little Boy N the Hood
No Vaseline
Just a rope and a chair and gasoline (burning your ass up!)
Lench Mob is a friend of mine
But you talk about them n*ggas from behind
"You know what a chazzer is, O'Shea?
A motherf*cking pig that don't fly straight"
Where ya gonna run to? Where ya gonna hide?
Taadow! Look at who's waiting outside! (Cypress, motherf*cker!)
[Interlude]
"I got a can of kick-ass wit' your motherf*ckin' name on it, Cube. You wanna come collect it, or should I bring it to you? 'Cause all that bullsh*t you doin', ain't sh*t fly about that sh*t... motherf*ckin' thing, and I ain't bullsh*ttin'. You need to back the f*ck off, and that's real. Kick rocks buster!"

[Verse 3: B-Real]
Natural Born Bullsh*tta
Lemme hit ya with a dose of reality when I get wit' ya
Your homie came knockin', he had to chain my suit
You put a pipe on your cover, even though you don't smoke Buddha
Let me take you down under on a plane
Where everybody was going insane
Took a look at the Real one: afro gone
The next morning, you didn't have yours on
How many ways will you bite my sh*t?
Would ya wet me or start throwing up a set?
Caution, when you enter the zone
Never used to bang 'til you heard the microphone (Studio gangsta!)
I got Cube melting in a Tray
Pulling up his card and f*cking up his "good day"
Unoriginal rap veteran...
The n*gga who say he don't steal from his friends ("I don't steal from my friends!")
Don't trust that n*gga named O'Shea
f*ck him, and send him on his way!

[Outro]
Cypress muthaf*ckin' Hill, the hardest mothaf*ckin' posse there is out here, n*gga. So how d'you figure you was gonna step to this? Yeah n*gga, the big damn-wham-bam Cypress Hill, tibby-tibby-toe fool, all for your mothaf*ckin' dope! n*gga, you can't hang with the Hill! What the f*ck you was thinkin' about? You know you step to this, you gotta step correct, 'cause Cypress ain't havin' that sh*t. Yeah n*gga, we crack and f*ck you next, who gives a f*ck, a mad f*ck? So bring it on, if you wanna test it!
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