And the bong loads just keep getting packed deeper and deeper...even if no one really cares. On their fourth album of herb-induced hip-hop, the once-interesting, now-derivative trio turns itself over to the world of played-out beats and rhymes. Tired tales of guns, gangs, and of course, weed fire up
Cypress Hill IV, making it sound more like a lame attempt at a reunion gig than the next chapter in the revitalization of their career, which it should be. Worse, they've added stupid sex raps to their repertoire, dulling their edge and throwing
Cypress Hill into the discard pile with countless other once-relevant hip-hoppers. Still, the sonic landscape that they trudge across here is occasionally sprinkled with some wild scenes. The Godzilla-like screams of their debut have been replaced by slinkier, more bass-driven beats, but there's also a lot of aural action going on in the background. Which, alas, doesn't quite compensate for the overriding flaws.