Cypress Hill is either hip-hop's most secretly talented band or its luckiest. How else do you explain four albums--Cypress Hill, Black Sunday, III (Temple of Boom), and now IV--over seven years that all use the same rote formula? DJ Muggs hooks up the dusty dungeon beats, filled with slow, rolling bass lines and dirtied drum breaks. B-Real revs up his nasal flow and spins yarns about (a) why police suck, (b) why Cypress can't be screwed with, and (c) marijuana, marijuana, marijuana.
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