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Intro: Bartender and J-Ro
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Yo last call, last call, last call for alcohol!
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At two, you're through!
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{J-Ro} Ay bartendah! Bartender!
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{Bart} Yo whassup man?
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{J-Ro} Ay man, man let me get a... rummmmm an coke
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{Bart} Yo man don't you think you had a little bit too much to drink?
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{J-Ro} Ay just let me get one more man
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{Bart} Yo man I'm lookin out for you man, it's your life
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{J-Ro} Man I'll hop over this motherfucker and get my OWN damn drink
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Hey niggy, what time it is...
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Verse One: Tash
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It's time to roll my sleeves, fuck a few MC's up
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Another rough cut, from the crew that won't ease up
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The Alkaholik click, AKA the forty downers
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Flips rhymes like Calvin flips fries and quarter pounders
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I never drink and drive cuz I might spill my drink
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I failed the breathalizer so they took me to the clink
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Niggaz earlin in the sink cause they can't fade the Cisco
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I'm from the old school but I never rocked a disco
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Loops from the group that, likes to smack the bitches
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Tha Liks is hittin hookers like a gangsta hittin switches
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Front, to the back, to the side, to the side
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And make you dance with these bitches but, no electric slidin
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And I'm about to flip, but first I'm bout to sip
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Off the forty ounce of brew that I was savin for the trip
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Back to the lab cuz all I do is bang cuts
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That's why I hang around my group like a dick hang with nuts
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Verse Two: J-Ro
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I push one two's when niggaz step on my shoes
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Oh you haven't heard the news I've been giving fools blues
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Manhandling chumps that step up, just to keep my rep up
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I push my fist through your grill
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I never became a gangsta, thanks ta, my skill
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on the nine inches of steel
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You ask me what the K's for, they don't mean nothin
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["K's for the way my dee-jay's kuttin" -- Schoolly D, P.S.K.]
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Chorus: Tash, group
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Last call y'all {call y'all}
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Call y'all {call y'all}
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{Last call, for alcohol}
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Last call y'all {call y'all}
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Call y'all {call y'all}
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{Last call, for alcohol}
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[J-Ro] Yeah... word
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[Tash] Alkaholik style nigga
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Verse Three: E-Swift
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Uh, I be one of dem niggaz known to drink a gang of brewskis
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Float like the wind, so all y'all can call me cool breeze
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Cooler than my man Morris Day in the winter
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The dope rhyme inventor, rockin shows at the center
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So pass the mic on the, down low
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Now go grab a forty from the liquor sto'
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And you don't stop {don't stop} and you don't quit {don't quit}
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Unless you're in the studio making wack shit
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Chorus
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[J-Ro] Yeah... that nigga Squid is in the house
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Verse Four: J-Ro
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I got a forty-four Mag with the clip (with a clip)
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So MC's watch your lip, cause I'm shootin from the hip ahh
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I rip like Oprah, in tight jeans do
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and splits a needle wrap a pair man because them shits is on the fritz
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It's crazy, a few MC's amaze me
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With this Alkie style of rock, Mr. Spock couldn't phase me
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Rhymin pays me, but I do it anyway
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Many say, AY, when it comes to rhymes you got plenty J
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I'm so cool I drink forty ounces of freon
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You never see me on the stage with a peon
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When we on the microphone it's like Jordan all alone
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We slam, competition, scram damn
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Can we get along? Nope.
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Switchblade to the throat to MC's who ain't dope
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Call me J-Ro the clepto, cuz I'm stealing to the jaw
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Of these half-baked rappers, trying to get raw
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Verse Five: Tash
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Soul in my strut, muscle in my hustle
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It's just a little something for them punks that wanna bust they
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little
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Def Jam Comedy, raps that make me crack up
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You better call the one-time and tell em send a backup
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Cuz I'm about to act up, I couldn't kick a verse
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J-Ro say he Got It Bad, so that mean I got it worse
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Check uno dos, crack a forty, make a toast
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Let me rip the instrumental and impress the West coast
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Chorus
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[J-Ro] Uhh... damn it feels like my bones is rattling
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Uhh ohhh shit! I'm outta here...
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Ohh yeah, tell the sons of Jones to kiss my ass
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-----------------
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Last Call
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Tha Alkaholiks |