@Cypress_Hill I WOULD CUT OFF MY MIDDLE NUT & SERVE IT TO U ON A SILVER PLATTER IF U WOULD PLEASE FOLLOW ME :-)
By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
Four years later, in 1996, Cypress Hill was back at Bayfront Park. And when B-Real threw a fresh-rolled blunt into the crowd, a girl named Jenny Rose from Boca Raton caught it. "I took it home, stuck it in the freezer, and smoked it for like the next three years on birthdays and 4/20s," she recalls blissfully.
Such is the potency of a crew that has tirelessly proselytized for and capitalized on the world's favorite weed — this Cypress shit can keep you high for decades. And when Real, Sen, and the Hill hotbox Grand Central, they'll be bringing that fire with them.
"We're gonna take you through our whole musical archive," Sen Dog insists. "We want you to remember where you were the first time you heard each of those songs. But we grew up a little bit since we started, so we don't throw our weed into the audience anymore."
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That's probably a smart decision considering the feds set up SoFla resident and reggae lifer Buju Banton for a big fall on bogus drug and gun charges. "Bro, wow," Sen says. "I hadn't heard of that guy since like '92. I don't know him or talk to him, but if it's a setup, I wouldn't be surprised. That's happened to a lot of people in America."
Maybe, though, these Cypress Hill homies are protected by a higher power. After all, B-Real is a santero. "I've been a babalao for like ten years now," he confirms. "And I gotta tell you, some of the dopest rhythms I've ever heard come from the bata drummers. They're spiritual and ritualistic and invoke certain divinities. One day, if I can find the right drummers, I would go down to Miami and do a whole Caribbean-style hip-hop thing, straight outta Cuba.
"We've been talking about playing in Miami again for a long time. We're excited to meet the people and say thanks for the support over the years."