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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
DJ Muggs
DJ Muggs
Turntables
Eric Bobo
Eric Bobo
Percussion
B-Real
B-Real
Vocals
Sen Dog
Sen Dog
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Louis Freese
Louis Freese
Songwriter
Larry Muggerud
Larry Muggerud
Songwriter
Senen Reyes
Senen Reyes
Songwriter
U. Reyes
U. Reyes
Songwriter
DJ Muggs
DJ Muggs
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
DJ Muggs
DJ Muggs
Producer
Troy Staton
Troy Staton
Mixing Engineer
Brian Gardner
Brian Gardner
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Lowrider, lowrider
Lowrider, lowrider
[Verse 2]
Coming through fo' real, we Cypress Hill, oh baby
Got that crunk, for yo' trunk, going gangsta crazy
We some real life hustlers, playing games in the street
We got that lowrider scraping, dipping on three
So pop your collar, give a holla, throw yo' dubs in the air
We tear the roof off the mother, lady let down your hair
Player, do that thing that make you feel all right
Smoke that tree, crack that brew, we getting freaky tonight
[Verse 3]
Now when people are done bumping they head to this
You wonder why you wanted anything instead of this
We been making you bounce for many years already
Rock steady and cut many **** to confetti
But I just want to blaze it up, whether it's the mic or a spliff
Yes, my gift is to amaze you all
Thought I couldn't come for ten my friend, but guess what
I slay **** and still saving my best nut
But you better cover your eyes, 'cause you never know when
I spit it out and start some flowing
I drop rhymes that grow like trees you're smoking
Eardrums feel like lungs, your brain's choking
Just let it soak in, seep in, creep in
I'm keeping all you motherfuckers in the deep end
You wanna trip? Then I got luggage
I stuff you in and send you off, 'cause you ain't rugged
[Verse 4]
Coming through fo' real, we Cypress Hill, oh baby
Got that crunk, for yo' trunk, going gangsta crazy
We some real life hustlers, playing games in the street
We got that low rider scraping, dipping on three
So pop your collar, give a holla, throw yo' dubs in the air
We tear the roof off the mother, lady let down your hair
Player, do that thing that make you feel all right
Smoke that tree, crack that brew, we getting freaky tonight
[Verse 5]
'Cause we're Cypress Hill, come on and ride with us
Just get inside, we bouncing dipping, chop it up real tough
Lean to the side, pimp yo' hat, tilt yo' seat on back
Don't front on me, baby boy, and break bread with the sack
[Verse 6]
I be the vato with the fine hoodrat in the ranfla
Always roll deep on the streets like the mafia
Plato just might come back and haunt ya
Flossing too much, the vato's gonna want ya
Not right here, homes, we're past all of that
Making that feria, spitting that rap
Ya me conoces, I'm down for my calle
Cypress Ave, y a pudo les madre
Ya tu sabes, we don't play that shit
Any pendejo's getting hit up quick
What's up, esé? What hood you claim?
Now throw it up and down like it ain't no thang
Hands in the air with the pinky rings
Soul Assassins running everything
To all you vatos, make sure you check this
In every barrio, I'm well-respected
[Verse 7]
Coming through fo' real, we Cypress Hill, oh baby
Got that crunk, for yo' trunk, going gangsta crazy
We some real life hustlers, playing games in the street
We got that low rider scraping, dipping on three
So pop your collar, give a holla, throw yo' dubs in the air
We tear the roof off the mother, lady let down your hair
Player, do that thing that make you feel all right
Smoke that tree, crack that brew, we getting freaky tonight
[Verse 8]
Lowrider, lowrider
Lowrider, lowrider
Lowrider, lowrider
Lowrider, lowrider
Written by: Larry Muggerud, Louis Freese, Senen Reyes, U. Reyes
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