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Verse One: Tash
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Caps get peeled rolling in my force field
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Like a nine with hollow points I keep rap flows that's ill
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So when you walkin down the block you better watch who you approachin
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I'm not your R&B singer, so ain't no need for vocal coachin
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Just a forty and a roach and I'll admit you rock the units
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While y'all niggaz couldn't move me if you worked for Starvin Students
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Downin all beer types, from St. Ide's to Red Stripe (yipes!)
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The menace stuffin mics down motherfuckers windpipes
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Has returrrrned, to burrrrn, it's time y'all niggaz learrrrrn
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I neaturalize y'all niggaz like relaxer in a perm
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with flows that go against the grain with a story so compellin
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I should mind The People's Court, snatch the mic from Doug Llewellyn
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and host my own show, after Bill Cosby comes Ricooooo!
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Transmitting live to all my black people
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Catch my drift, I'm down with my nigga E-Swift
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My name is Tash, I'm from the group that you don't wanna fuck with
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Never shy, sippin on some why ask why
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Smokin thai with this bitch that's more fly than Jasmin Guy
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Hooked up with John Q so let me do my thiiing
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while niggaz rock the play shit that they bought from Chess King
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But still, I train rhymes to flip like a seal
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Niggaz say my rhyme skill on the steel is unreal
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But all I do is chill and swing it when I bring it
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Oh shit that's my nigga show these niggaz how you figure
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Verse Two: Q-Tip
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I bring it to your chest pour all the way live
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And deliver ill verse guaranteed to cause highs
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When we start rappin heads roll like Patton
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With the flood blood clot the Alkaholiks rhyme a lot
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Yo I'm like Grimace when I'm on this rap scrimmage
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ANd I got this magic wand to make your puny soul diminish
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The Abstract delivers, I be the Queens nigga on point
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Mary Jane ain't nuttin but a joint
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They called a nigga up to add a little bit of flavor
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Now I'm cuttin and slashin like Luke's light saber
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Yeah, what? You trapped in the zone
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Where MC's get seared and all spots blown
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And in this rap shit a nigga need to be thicky
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I fuck with the crew who downs the deuce deuce Mickey's
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I'm from the rotten apple, y'all niggaz can't grapple
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And love to the Liks, hit your ass like a tackle
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[Pow, bust my liquid-ass style
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Peace to Mad Lib and my nigga Wild Child]
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Verse Three: J-Ro
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Yo put in the disc E
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While I hit the whiskey
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[Bust a rhyme off the head J]
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The nigga missed me
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I'm in this rap game so I'ma aim to be best
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It's fresh, but off the head it's like the dunk contest
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I don't walk the street, I roll my Jeep in an instant
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I rock the beat to sleep like an infant
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The Likwit crew, comin like this on you
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With that four minute Olde English piss on you
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You're bustin dumb raps off the cap, oh shit
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But I got the pen and pad locked down like a pit
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I let the, ink submerger, into the thin wood sheets
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Beats make my head bop, so I'ma rock it for the streets
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I fill all my days with big butts and boom
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I let my pants hand cause my big nuts need room
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I'm not old school, or new school, I'm modern school, I'm ditchin
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When my girl starts bitchin I gets got like a kitchen
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I fly down like the Chi-town wind
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Cause I got the iller noise to make the hardcore grin
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When, the saints come marchin in
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I'ma roll right by em in the fly Lincoln
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Roughneck niggaz wanna box me down
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Cause I got the ladies lookin like Foxy Brown
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The Liks bring the beer Tip sticks it in your earholes
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I drop the mic and strike the Heisman pose
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Verse Four: King Tee
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Hardcore G, I get hardcore man
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From the underland a fuckin wonderman, bam
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Lunatic potential, an isperential differential
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Confidentially smashin instrumentals
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On this tune I bring raps of doom to the mic
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And put my rear shit in flight, peep
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If the drunk funk don't wanna hump in your trunk
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Man you got some motherfuckin junk
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All The Way Live
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| Tha Alkaholiks |
