"Locos" lyrics - CYPRESS HILL

[Intro:]
Orale loco, ponte las pilas wey e?
Aqui se va a hacer el jale ahorita de volada
Estos vatos tienen un chingo de feria
Listo? Ponte la mascara, vamonos

[Verse 1: B-Real & Sen Dog]
Five, and four, and three, and two, and one
And we smash through the door with the quickness up
Looking for the crop that I heard you pussies talk about
Don't try nothin', if you lead me to the crop, anda despacio
Don't say a word, it'd be over, suicide of the smoked out
Where the cash stashed in the room?
Five, and four and three, and two, and one
That's how many seconds left before your ass is done
(Click-clack)
Now you heard the sound, tell me somethin' new
This homie here won't hesitate to put a hole in you
Death threat, get your ass up, that's a good boy
Would you rather put the cameras out, or we playin' coy?
Don't even think about the strap up in your backpack
Cooperative, when I leave you're still alive, in fact
I only want your cash crop, not your life jack
(You can get another crop), but not your life back
So settle down, I don't wanna let the metal spray
Lead the way, give it up and live another day
Trees and sacks, backpack full of cash, out the door
Hit the ride, hear my tires screechin' in the back

[Chorus: Sick Jacken]
Yeah
Amonos, damelo, caete con ese paqueton
Yo no quiero usar el cuhete no
Es muy baqueton
El bote no me asusta a mi
Es como vacacion
Pero yo te asusto a ti
Miados en el pantalon
Cinco, cuatro, tres, y dos, y uno
Yo quiero la hierba y el nudo
Es lo que le queda a este cuetazo de budo
Pierde puro verde o pierdes el culo
Tu di

[Bridge:]
Ahi esta la otra que te decia loco
Estos vatos tienen mas feria
Aqui vamos a chingar, ?listo?
Vamonos pues

[Verse 2: B-Real & Sen Dog]
Weed and dough, and hoes, and hit and run
As we graspin' for more with our pockets full
Layin' down the plot, blueprints for another pull
Smokin' up the spot while I quit, we're invincible
Jack your spot and we take your shit and run
Got my eye on the hummus just around the way
Searchin' for the dogs, no guards, so it's time to play
Judgin' by the odds we can hit it and lets hondale
Somos locos pocos, here we come
Grippin' outta sight
Takin' it to other heights
Homie, go around the back
Go in when I kill the lights
Sack up everything
Don't mean nothin' with a fuckin' knife
Five and four, and three, and two, and one
Now we in the buildin', take it all until it's done
Fifty pounds, smell it all around, yeah we comin' up
Easy pickin', don't be tellin' hoes, live fucked up

[Chorus: Sick Jacken]
Yeah
Vamonos, damelo, caete con ese paqueton
Yo no quiero usar el cuhete no
Es muy baqueton
El bote no me asusta a mi
Es como vacacion
Pero yo te asusto a ti
Miados en el pantalon
Cinco, cuatro, tres, y dos, y uno
Yo quiero la hierba y el nudo
Es lo que le queda a este cuhetazo de budo
Pierde puro verde o pierdes el culo
Tu di