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Verse One: Tash
I hang MC's with my noose, watch me get loose The nigga flippin more styles than Snapple got juice Cause I'm too hot to handle, got more soul in my pinky Than a niggy pickin his afro and I left the skin not stinky The freshest, yes it's, the rhymer with the bottle Kickin it with my homie like Lamont do with Rollo Live at the Apollo, they still couldn't do it Cause even in New York the crew be buzzin off the fluid So testing (one), testing (two), testing (three) Too much Olde E will make you pee As you can see I'm the Alkaholik tipsy off the whiskey Get with the clippers never nappy like Misty I didn't grow dreads, cause dreads is for the rastas Tha Alkaholik click straight knockin out imposters Gots to roll deep like ants at a picnic Get with the crew that's flowin like Likwit Verse Two: J-Ro Every night I pray to god please, no more wack MC's I catch a few z's, wake up and bust these I get over like a high jumper, freaks be on my weinie Cause they know I'm packin more shit than Bandini The freshest on the map servin raps with all fixins E-Swift does the mixin, pockets fat like Rickie Nixon (Ain't no party like a Alkaholik party) So don't be a nitwit, get with the Likwit (ah yeah, ah yeah) Yeah a little louder a little louder a little louder One two one two yeah just like that, yo Yo, (flowin like Likwit) Ahh yeah (ahh yeah ahh yeah ahh yeah) flowin like Likwit Owwwwww, King Tee Verse Three: King Tee Here comes the Lik, or should I say Likwit As I gets funky on a track that my nigga E-Swift did Rollin with the Alkaholik group, call me trooper Run of the mill skills got your neck in the noose but hey, I be the K-I-N-G Tee for short Big ballin nigga playin rhymes like a sport Wicked when I kick it, yeah that's the ticket Tossin up a forty still buzzin off the Likwit Verse Four: J-Ro You ain't got enough skill, to fill up a cup So niggy won't you just shut the (hold up) The girls call me dookie man cause I'm the shit can't you smell son I gots more freaks than Prince Rogers Nelson I can't be stopped I got hip-hop wreckin powers I gotta say what's up to my buddy Ricky Flowers We got that Likwit funk, we get drunk with the .... (hell motherfuckin yeah) |
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Intro: Tash, speaking to J-Ro
Yo whassup man, get up man (*urrp* I can't bust man) Get up nigga, bust (I'm fucked) Get up you gotta do your verse nigga (Aight I'll try it) Get up nigga! Verse One: J-Ro I get drunk and I stumble to the phone And conjure up a bitch to bone when I'm alone OHh shit, tow back, I need to take a piss Only when I'm drunk I sing a song like this My grandma and your grandma *urrp* Sittin by the fire Hold on, turn the beat off (nah, keep it goin J-Ro can you make it?) I'm just not knowin I get drunk and start talkin mo' shit And when I got a gun in my hand you better get, out Cause my brain just ain't what it used to be Forget tryin to raionalize, cover your eyes Ah d-*urrp*, damn I'm drunk I need a chunk, no better yet a hunk of that funk When I get drunk I might act uncouth But when I get drunk I always tell the truth Yeah I'm good, I'm bad, I'm dope, I'm freaky fresh I make hip-hop fans say yes yes The Liks comin through, you know we gonna blow upop Hold up, hold up, I think I gotta... *urrrrrrp* Damn, false alarm Gettin all the ladies with my cool charm When I get drunk I might even call my daddy a punk Yeah, but only when I'm dr-*urp* drunk Yeah, let me pass the forty, to my nigga, Tash Verse Two: Tash, E-Swift It goes one for the chronic, two for the amnesia It's the pimp-slap niggy with drinks in the freezer Bust the one out, two out, (flips) type of rapper That'd get you our your seat quicker than a car jacker Slip a Colt for the fever when I'm coolin with my people Got hoes in East Columus like I'm BIlly Dee Wrinkle Cause I move like, I'm smooth like I'm Harry Belafonte Lookin for them niggaz that jumped my homey Dante All up in this bitch with the gin and Tanqueray Drink like Mr. Wendal smoke bud like Dr. Dre But that's cause I'm old enough to do that type of shit Got damn I gotta piss I pass the mic to E-Swift Yeah, I get drunk and can't nobody whoop me I'm trippin, must be the brew that I was sippin Kickin in, guess I shouldn'ta mixed it with the gin Cause when I'm layin on my back I can feel the room spin One too many, I reckon Feelin I got ta earl, any second Wanna get up but can't move, feels like I'm stuck in the groove What the fuck was I tryin to prove? I get a rep for downin four-o's All the hoes knows them Alkaholik bros Niggaz call me dad I got a fifth in the trunk Might fuck an ugly bitch but only when I'm drunk Verse Three: J-Ro Aight, think I'm feelin a little better Ready to bust this, like this And ya don't miss, check it out I get drunk and start thinkin bout my friends that passed on with every forty ounce the memory will last on Black Man Muzzle, Mike Lee and Suavey D The three MC's will always live in my memories We used to rock shows, we used to rock hoes And drink forty-o's, and wear the same clothes Damn I wish we could go through it again But I know one day we gonna do it again And when that day comes it's gonna be live But I ain't in no hurry so I don't drink and drive The ALkaholiks we gets funky when we drinkin Just a lil sumthin, to pump up the thinkin Outro: J-Ro Beer run! Ante up nigga Ha ha, put the money in the hat |
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Intro: Bartender and J-Ro Yo last call, last call, last call for alcohol! At two, you're through! {J-Ro} Ay bartendah! Bartender! {Bart} Yo whassup man? {J-Ro} Ay man, man let me get a... rummmmm an coke {Bart} Yo man don't you think you had a little bit too much to drink? {J-Ro} Ay just let me get one more man {Bart} Yo man I'm lookin out for you man, it's your life {J-Ro} Man I'll hop over this motherfucker and get my OWN damn drink Hey niggy, what time it is... Verse One: Tash It's time to roll my sleeves, fuck a few MC's up Another rough cut, from the crew that won't ease up The Alkaholik click, AKA the forty downers Flips rhymes like Calvin flips fries and quarter pounders I never drink and drive cuz I might spill my drink I failed the breathalizer so they took me to the clink Niggaz earlin in the sink cause they can't fade the Cisco I'm from the old school but I never rocked a disco Loops from the group that, likes to smack the bitches Tha Liks is hittin hookers like a gangsta hittin switches Front, to the back, to the side, to the side And make you dance with these bitches but, no electric slidin And I'm about to flip, but first I'm bout to sip Off the forty ounce of brew that I was savin for the trip Back to the lab cuz all I do is bang cuts That's why I hang around my group like a dick hang with nuts Verse Two: J-Ro I push one two's when niggaz step on my shoes Oh you haven't heard the news I've been giving fools blues Manhandling chumps that step up, just to keep my rep up I push my fist through your grill I never became a gangsta, thanks ta, my skill on the nine inches of steel You ask me what the K's for, they don't mean nothin ["K's for the way my dee-jay's kuttin" -- Schoolly D, P.S.K.] Chorus: Tash, group Last call y'all {call y'all} Call y'all {call y'all} {Last call, for alcohol} Last call y'all {call y'all} Call y'all {call y'all} {Last call, for alcohol} [J-Ro] Yeah... word [Tash] Alkaholik style nigga Verse Three: E-Swift Uh, I be one of dem niggaz known to drink a gang of brewskis Float like the wind, so all y'all can call me cool breeze Cooler than my man Morris Day in the winter The dope rhyme inventor, rockin shows at the center So pass the mic on the, down low Now go grab a forty from the liquor sto' And you don't stop {don't stop} and you don't quit {don't quit} Unless you're in the studio making wack shit Chorus [J-Ro] Yeah... that nigga Squid is in the house Verse Four: J-Ro I got a forty-four Mag with the clip (with a clip) So MC's watch your lip, cause I'm shootin from the hip ahh I rip like Oprah, in tight jeans do and splits a needle wrap a pair man because them shits is on the fritz It's crazy, a few MC's amaze me With this Alkie style of rock, Mr. Spock couldn't phase me Rhymin pays me, but I do it anyway Many say, AY, when it comes to rhymes you got plenty J I'm so cool I drink forty ounces of freon You never see me on the stage with a peon When we on the microphone it's like Jordan all alone We slam, competition, scram damn Can we get along? Nope. Switchblade to the throat to MC's who ain't dope Call me J-Ro the clepto, cuz I'm stealing to the jaw Of these half-baked rappers, trying to get raw Verse Five: Tash Soul in my strut, muscle in my hustle It's just a little something for them punks that wanna bust they little Def Jam Comedy, raps that make me crack up You better call the one-time and tell em send a backup Cuz I'm about to act up, I couldn't kick a verse J-Ro say he Got It Bad, so that mean I got it worse Check uno dos, crack a forty, make a toast Let me rip the instrumental and impress the West coast Chorus [J-Ro] Uhh... damn it feels like my bones is rattling Uhh ohhh shit! I'm outta here... Ohh yeah, tell the sons of Jones to kiss my ass |
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I stop by the club, cuz it ain't shit else to do it I'm on the guestlist, it's E-Swift plus two Stepped to the bar, cuz, it's a bad habit Open mic night, so, the Liks gots to grab it Check the mic, it sounds tight so I guess we might rock the motherfucker all night yo The niggaz went wild, the hoes went crazy We dropped the microphone than we Swayze Verse Two: J-Ro Oooh don't I sound great when I down a black eighth My style is much hotter than the enchilada plate My name is James but the girls call me God when I'm humpin I should get a gold medal for broad jumpin Rappers, talkin bout, back to the old school You never shoulda left in the first place fool Now everybody wants to be a prophet But I won't quit rhymin bout my dick so get off it You put a rhyme together but I only dismantle it So gimme a high-five cause you juts can't handle it If rap was a swimming pool I'd climb to the top Plus a triple-back, hand me the mic and watch the belly flop Dagnabit, I got a bad habit It don't matter where I'm at I seen a booty and I grab it So niggaz step back before you get lit I'm a grown motherfuckin man and you can't tell me shit Chorus: repeat 2X You can't tell me shit, you can't tell me a hot damn thing You can't tell me shit, you can't tell me shit Verse Three: J-Ro I rock you like Lenny Kravitz, or Nirvana I'm puttin suckers on pause like a comma I never ape crazy act but I got the yapes a superhero from the ghetto puttin creases in my capes (Up up up and away, J-Ro!!) I got more hoes than a canyon got echoes I'm rougher than Bluto, tougher than a callous My number one football team is Dallas Cowboys, now boys, can't you see I'm greater than Your grandpops is my number one fan You get ran on the court you dribble like Manute Bol You try to take it to the hole *crowd roars* get that shit outta here I'm more gifted than Christmas morning I pull out a pen and write a rhyme when I'm boning Me I'm tripping, let me light my Phillie blunt Oh there goes my beeper, what the hell do Billy want [Yo whassup J?] Man I quit selling weed [No I need a funky break] Well I got what you need Chorus Verse Four: J-Ro You hittin corners with the Alkies seen you pull-out cuz you great The crew who got another tape that's bumpin harder, save it! Rhythm and blues blew a fuse, and now it ain't the same They put a lot of Funky Drummers out the game They samplin the fresh hip-hop breaks, just to make a hit That's why to me, R&B, really ain't shit So peace to all the real hip-hop niggyroles The ones who knows about flows and rockin shows I wanna say whassup to the ladies I gotsta say whassup to the ladies From the Atlantic, to the Pacific I gotsta be specific, they know I'm terrific I'm pushin up to the bars, got em screamin Alkahols Ohh gosh call me Josh cause I'm bringin down the walls MC extrordinaire, J-Ro came to set it straight I never hesitate to grab the mic and meditate In LA, most niggaz walk the same Act the same, talk the same, drive the same Dress the same, shoot the same, fuck the same But this is Ro and I got my own game I drive through lyrics like I'm riding on the freeway And I don't give rappers, no kind of leeway Chumps be hittin ejects cause I break necks when I flex I be housin mo niggaz than the projects Chorus Outro: J-Ro Yeah, this goes out to King Tee DJ Pooh, yo the whole crew Yo D-Pimp for makin the track That nigga Tash Deadly Threat This is J-Ro and E-Swift Tha Alkaholiks, and it's like that |
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Intro: Tash
Yeah, Tha Alkaholiks Ay J, I got a crew They called the Loot Pack And they can get crazy fresh y'all, crazy fresh y'all My man Jack is about to get fresh y'all Verse One: Loot Pack Check the flavor here's a rootin tootin hydraulic trooper Tha Alkaholik grouper in the house and when I bust the hula-hooper Peep my ish, when I flips next I flash with the Cracker Jacker A true Loot Packer Gettin versatile when I smile toastin to the funk All punks put your glass down, or end up in the trunk You wonder when my dope styles sound kind of varied The Pictionary, man with my backpack, I'll Carey Mariah took her back, and show her how I Pack, Loot Kick lyrics on originally outtrack black in fact People call me moody, I simply knocks the booty Pull up my hoody, and then I bust a Sam Goody Verse Two: Tash Bitches on my woody cuz I likes to get the loosest I eat niggaz up and wash em down with deuce gooses A Colt .45 cuz I gotsta rush the likwit Tash from the group that the bitches wanna get with I kick it from the East all the way to the West Yes stay away from booze that puts the hair on your chest And that's a little piece of advice for the kiddos I bust more flavor than your teacher got dittoes I keep it up to date or take it back like The Twist E-Swift is out of town so the Pack load the disc So, take your ass home, good night, the party's over If your ass is drunk, ride home with someone sober Yeah... Tha Alkaholiks, ah yeah, the Loot Pack (the party's over, it's all over) Nineteen ninety-three And this is how we kick it Verse Three: Loot Pack, J-Ro I'ma wreck the neck conducting props like Randy Wrecker The mecca licka mega-hot mega-mike checka Call me diesel to the easel, the weasel, the wacky The packy, the Rikki, Tikki, the Taffy One for the trouble, two for the trouble I gotta get snaps and spit raps on the double On and on to the beat I wreck shop scoop a rumplestil-skin then I'm out, the brother with the clout Be so dead on the loopa, the super-duper wrecka mic checka I roll soul like an old trooper I used to play football, now I'm into rockin My rhyme is the tailback, the track is the blockin My name is J-Ro and I've been waitin for ages To let the world know what I've been writin on the pages I don't smoke sess it's rough on the West OK, I confess, I puff on the stress I rip it when I wreck it, when I mic check it Brothers check the flav, check the Alkaholik record While I flip styles, and rip styles, and hit styles and hit piles for miles of styles, I still pile The flavor flippin funk, bringin diesel be the packer A trooper loop, scoop you like a hula-hoop and smack ya Like you stutter, I ribbedyribbedyribbedyrip styles, I'm comin The Loot Pack, Tha Alkaholiks keepin niggaz runnin Runnin, yeah, do that shit, yeah Turn the party out, yeah yeah Turn the party out, c'mon c'mon Verse Four: E-Swift You think that you can fade this, you must be out to lunch They call me E-Swift, I'm from Tha Alkaholik bunch I just downed a brew, now check out one two It's the Liks baby rockin with the Loot Pack crew Funky like Con-Funk-Shun, more style than Stylistics I got mo' beats than Magic's got assists so raise up off me, or get snatched by the collar The party ain't over till that fat bitch holler I'm in the house so check the way I flow Niggaz say I'm fat, everyday I say I know But my head ain't swoll, I stay down to earth Never gangbang, never claim the turf But I drink a gang of forties, ain't nuttin wrong with that Unless you go buckwild and start bustin off your gat *bang, bang bang* *stumbling* Ay nigga fuck that the party's over man! Everybody get they shit get the fuck out |
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Intro: J-Ro
(Whooo! Hah hah!) Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah we kickin it Uhh uhh uhh we kickin it Yeah yeah we kickin it (Whooo!) Yeah yeah we kickin it Yeah, Cali in the house Huh, uhh, Fred in the house Check it out, BULLSHIT! Verse One: J-Ro I'm J-Ro the man, I'm gettin down I gets mo daps than H. Rap Brown I drive the hoes wild cause they love the way I talk You can't drive me crazy cause I'm close enough to walk I bust threes like Terry Tegall, get higher than a eagle You're just a dirty pigeon, BSn bout religion I don't give a damn if you don't eat ham You grab the microphone and reguse to slam I make a nigga scared to grab the mic behind me I kick shit so deep King Neptune couldn't fine me Yo, can I get a go J-Ro? (Go J-Ro!) To let me know if I can flow I probably be doper if I smoked crack like you But Swift and Tash'll beat my ass until I'm black and blue Cause I ain't with, no way out shit I'm tired of this one-hittin played out shit Some niggaz rock like the Liks... BULLSHIT! Uhh, I hate big tits... BULLSHIT! We'll never make another hit... BULLSHIT! I don't drink cause I quit... BULLSHIT! Come on (Whooo!) Yeah yeah yeah yeah We kickin it (hold up) we kickin it We kickin it Baby youse my one and only... BULLSHIT! Baby that's a true fact... BULLSHIT! Uhh, I never leave ya lonely... BULLSHIT! Yo, I'll call you right back... BULLSHIT! Verse Two: J-Ro, King Tee Baby don't take the blame youse a real cool dame But now that I made you call my name you just don't look the same From the middle of the bed I bang your head like a rock n roller On the way out, I smacked a nigga with my pistol-a When I met you I sure wishin aye tower You hopped on my dank like there was no tomorrow All I wanted was some sexin, now you want affection Damn I hate to see your ass comin in my direction Wait here, I'll be right back, I'm goin to get a spliff You know I'm goin through your ass like Emmitt Smith Well oh snap! Here goes a fashion That's incredible, with the style That I learned back as a younglin, where's the beef Don't sleep, I used to run around with the creeps Ain't no tellin, Jack told Helen About a lot of people so I'm runnin for the border And get me a taco, gin and sako Mom and pop yo, I'm rockin this shit! It's not a plan I wrote the book called style Taught the child how to stand when he piss Be a man, go fuck Jan The white man's tan, bring back MC Shan And I rhymed every word... BULLSHIT! Wackest style you ever heard... BULLSHIT! Outro: For the beats sake, rock on rock on For the beats sake, rock on rock on And you go Whoooo! Grand groove, grand groove (Alkaholiks y'all, alkaholiks y'all) Uhh, take it back now Cause it's fat now, that's how I bring it back now Whoooo! Grand groove grand groove This one dedicated, to all the motherfuckers out there Bullshittin This wonderful bullshit how would you make a record BULLSHIT! I don't smoke no BULLSHIT! I don't drink no BULLSHIT! I don't fuck no BULLSHIT! This one goes out to the P-Town And all over, yeah baby, yeah baby, Compton baby Everybody in the house And we out... Alkaholiks... |
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Verse One: E-Swift Hoes on my nuts just because of my position Can't fade the bitches that's always bitchin Love to kick beats, rock rhymes on occasion Down with the niggaz that the hoes keep pagin Gimme gimme gimme my gin and super-sak Then, let me hit the doobie, can't fuck with the rock Bust one shot if you're (with me with me) Niggaz swing back don't (hit me hit me) I can freak freak the funk the funk funk And hit skins all night if I wanna when I'm drunk Can't fade the pop pop pop goes the nina Tha Liks be rockin shows from New York to Pasadena When it comes to rhymes -- god damn I can rock em When it comes to boots -- god damn I can knock em Got mad flavor so do me a favor and bump that shit it's the motherfuckin Liks! Verse Two: Field Trip Aiyyo, I cut like a ginsu, I been through, hell and back, stabbers get swell Tossed from my balls Bitches lick the crush off my balls Pause, yo I'm lickin off walls to scatter, nigga this is theory and my shit is kinda fatter Stagger, cause I got shanked by a dagger Yo you can't fuck with the Wild Wild West I'm a shady ass nigga and I slit you like stress They say ballers only sport Guess But that's a motherfuckin lie cuz I got a pair of Levi's Niggaz rollin thick like a New York steak Field Trip on the beach (now got your momma on some pancakes) I know you sayin (damn that little nigga's dope) I got a loaded tec nine under my motherfuckin coat Niggaz wanna jack the back, never nope I stick my gat down your throat, and tell your ass no Verse Three: Tash The forty's kickin in I gotta drain my main vein Got drinks in my freezer bust styles I can't explain And the name of my group ain't changin cuz it fit us Hit us, one time, for my cats that ain't with us On the down low drinkin whiskey in the basement If a sample won't clear I substitue with a replacement (One two ya don't stop when it hits two o'clock You can't buy the alcohol so you drink soda pop Like that and uhh, it's like that Sometimes it's like that) [King Tee] Yeah, yeah, yeah, ay How y'all like that one right there? Y'all like that one? Yeah, that's my boys Them my boys Tha Alkaholiks yaknowhatI'msayin? |
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Verse One: J-Ro I knock em knock em out the park when other rappers are hitting bunts I'm a togger not a fogger step on hunts and don't do stunts I got SOUL POWER never took a cold shower Never had a girlfriend the color of cooking flour You can call me sleazy cuz my rhymes are kinda greasy Some brothers wear curls, cuz it ain't easy being peasy Like a Kung-Fu flick, I stick you in the dick, with my toothpick Tell em Rick ("You hit them harder than a fuckin brick") I like clothes and hoes but like em better in the sheets I rock more beats than Jesse Owens ran track meets] Amazing feets move, they happen everyday When the Ro to the J bring his ass out to play I weight one-eighty but I'm, fat I ki-uh-kick up dust when I bust like a cap Tha Alkaholik crew, and what we're here to do Is rock a show, knock a hoe, and crack another brew Chorus: Make room, for the crew with beats that thump (3x) Tunes hittin hard enough to ditch your trunk It's the Liks baby, it's the Liks (4x) Verse Two: Tash The super, duper, gets it poppin with the quickness King Tee and the Alkies straight gettin down to business It's all about the Liks cause we're heavy on the kicks But we're easy on the treble (adjust my mic level) So fools can here me mic checkin all the way in China The skills you can't front on, Tha Alkaholik rhymer Could rip a show up to' up so I always flex my talents but my words don't be slurrin, I never lose my balance But that's cause I'm slick tossin bottles like a discus The Liks could rock a party from Halloween to Christmas That's why I'm screamin on MC's like I'm Onyx I'm hooked on gin and tonics like your momma's Hooked on Phonics So when we steppin through, with the thirty-two of brew Niggaz better make way for the Alkaholik crew When we're steppin through, with the thirty-two of brew Niggaz better make way for the Alkaholik crew Chorus Verse Three: J-Ro First you gotta have respect, money comes next After you get THOSE, come the hoes and the sex Girl you keep askin bout the niggaz in my crew Yeah I'm down with Pooh, but what's up with me and you Cause I don't give a fuck whose your cousin who could fuck Cause I just wanna fuck, damn I wanna fuck So unlock the gate and MAKE ROOM for the heavyweight rapper The slim light skinned coochie slapper Pull over to the side so I can roll up the indo Got the bitch head bumpin on the front window Wham, bam, I spanked you ma'am I wonder how they make these rubbers from the skin of a lamb I blow into the mic when I check it Had hoes gettin naked way before I made a record I smoked a gang of liquor, I drink a gang of boom Like Ted, I gotta zoom zoom so make room Chorus Outro: Tash, J-Ro Ah yeah, ah yeah, Tha Alkaholiks Yo, before we bail We gotta give a shout out to the crew that gets the party poppin Tha Alkaholik crew Old English is in the house, and uhh What about Mickey's? is in the house, and uhh St. Ide's is in the house, and uhh Crazy Horse is in the house, and uhh Genuine Draft is in the house, and uhh What about Red Bull is in the house, and uhh Colt .45 is in the house, and uhh King Cobra ain't in the house, and uhh *bottle smashes* |
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Verse One: J-Ro Mary Jane, Mary Jane, Mary Jane You're always in my brain and you help me ease the pain Cuz when you're not around I just don't feel the same I can't be your one and only but I know you're not to blame I never hold ya can't hold ya won't hold ya down Cuz you got that kind of love that needs to be spread around Some people don't approve of me being with ya kiddo They say you're bad for me, and my momma says ditto When I walk up witcha, my buddies wanna hit cha I know you been with others but you know I'll never quit ya And even though sometimes you got my mind stressed out I'm in this with you baby and you got my body stretched out Mary Mary Mary Jane ["So put that in your pipe and smoke it" -- Pharcyde] Check it out Verse Two: J-Ro Early in the morning, you gave me a buzz I picked up the phone and didn't know who the fuck it was I feel like Johnny Gill I wanna wrap your body tight Lick you from head to toe and watch you glow like a Lite Brite I met you at the park around three When I got there you was loungin in the car with my homey He said he needed a dub so I slipped him one And said "C'mon Mary Jane and let's have a little fun" I got you in the sack, I got you in the sack And like Helen tellin Jack, there's no turnin back She's the queen of the ghetto, ask my buddy Tom Mary Jane is the bomb, Mary Jane Yeah, do you love me, do you love me Mary Jane Mary Jane, do you love me, do you love me D-Pimp in the house, Homicide in the house And in love with Mary Jane Verse Three: Tash Mary Mary, why you got me buggin? Look what the homies done drug in... (Mary Jane) Prettier than any model I met her at a house party sippin on a bottle Her dress has got a nice fit I'm locked like a vise grip She's the type I'd like to spend the rest of my life with I would if I could but I know I can't support her Can't take her on vacation, wouldn't make it past the border When she ain't around I get the feeling that I need her Mary Jane be acting white but I ain't caught the jungle fever But she be so thin that I could slip her in my pocket I lick her then I knock it till I'm higher than a rocket Whenever she's in the same room with my friends They all trip because she's dope and she don't want me for my ends So just to make em jealous when she walks up to me I reach out and grab her by the booty, Mary Jane Mary Jane Mary Jane Mary Jane Mary Jane Verse Four: Tash My eyes are red, but not from cryin Whenever Mary Jane runs out, I sit there sighin Sayin to myself, "When oh when will Mary Jane come back Where oh where can I find Mary at..." ["Wear your hat" -- KRS, cut and scratched by E-Swift to resemble "Where you at" in the mix] I jump into my Benz and start my search all through the hood Cuz all the spots she used to hang in ain't up to no good But needless to say, I kept lookin and I found her Right on the corner of Central and Allandra I picked her up quick and in a hurry And then all of a sudden the undercover swooped in flurries I said, "Hold up! Don't shoot. I know this looks like a kidnap; but all I want to do is get my Mary Jane back." They took me to the station, giving me some sation and some jib about leaving Mary Jane at the crib They let me go but they kept her, because they had a bounty On her cuz she's wanted from here to Humboldt County (I left with a frown cuz Mary Jane was locked down) Once again I had lost my best friend |
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[Featuring Threat] Intro: I am Captain of Egor Hahahaha, this nigga is doin impressions! He's doin impressions! Hi Tremaine... Yo Threat, you ready? (yeah) Sup? Verse One: Threat Who is you nigga who is you? I know you from somewhere (where you from) The Zoo Why you got beef with my click, fuck you punk bitch And fuck you too, this is L.A. Zoo And we don't give a mad fuck about you sorry ass suckers Tick tock chrome off that fake gold watch Faster bastard don't make me have to plaster Players, get smoked with my bare hands Got the shit that sway in a wicked way Like Tash and J, motherfuckin Ro hoe Down with E-Swift and the Alkaholik crew And to my homies this Bud's for you Who is dem niggas Verse Two: E-Swift Guess who nigga been down evrysince With the L.A. Zoo, my nigga Threat, Sway, and Tense E motherfuckin Swift ohh I, thought you knew Looted me some glocks in April, Ninety-Two But it's a new day, so make way shortie For the nigge with the brown bag wrapped around the forty Hold up, yo, I said hold up, here he come J motherfuckin Ro and he's buzzin off the rum Verse Three: J-Ro Yo it's the J-Ro fever, catch it I'm prone to grab the microphone and get evil and wreck shit If I hear, one more, nigga kickin up Das EFX shit, I'm bombin, my style is uncommon Peep it, keep it in your brain until the next one My rhyme will lift you up like a muscle when I flex one, two, three, J-Ro is who I be I got more bone than a cemetary Ninety-Three mandingo, I got my own lingo My Mexican homey, told me never trust a gringo But I trust no man, I'm chillin like a snowman I makin lots of dough, and the Liks can rip a show and Freak it, yo E-Swift freak it Won't ya give em up peak after funk when they seek it I used to walk the block with my pops playin poo-tat Now they be like who that, and shit how he do that Chorus: repeat 4X [Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!] -- Busta Rhymes, Scenario Who dem niggas, who dem niggas Verse Four: Tash Tash on the mic makes niggas play the cheap seats I rip shit from Cali to the Valley of the Jeep Beats They call me Uncle Sam cause my skills'll tax all y'all Call y'all [suckas] cause them niggas need to ball y'all Rhyme phat pages up and light em wit ya lighter MC's keep the gifts that's like flies from a spider From the pimp slap, light skin, kid that turns the mics out Diss y'all, crew then turn around and punch your lights out I take to the funk sound man since my pager I kick the kind of shit that make you want to beat your bitch up The nigga, knocker, tipsy off the vodka Tash on the mic floats like a helicopter Stop the, presses, the Liks rock the freshest I'm lookin for the bitches in the tight tight dresses So who them niggas with beats for your ass The Alkaholik crew, peace out, my name is Tash Chorus |
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