Bottoms Up

Intro: Tash Yes yes yes yes yes yeah-he-ha-ha-ha! Back to drown ya'll motherfuckaz! Who we got, we got, we got We got the Liks, we got the Liks, we got the Liks Cause MC's in ninety-five, MC's in ninety-five MC's in ninety-five that think they rock like MC's in ninety-five, MC's in ninety-five MC's in ninety-five that swear they rock live Verse One: MC's in ninety-five they need way more rehearsin They write they booty kyrics then they add they little curse in YOu're not a true hip-hop person Spend a little time with your rhymes and quit makin wack versions I send this shit out to all them niggas from that group With the ninety minute demo sounding just like Snoop You better bizzay, your ass up out my rhyme zone Fore I leave you on the ground broke up like pine cones You're rootin and tootin but ain't did no shootin While the freshest hip-hop, it curses verses like a wicked witch Disaster, cock the rhyme flows back to kill To get me out your system takes more than Golden Seal Cause I bust so many flows I gotta file my shit in columns While MC's be goin down like Olympiads that slalom, rock-bottom I got em, left without no watchers While I be housin niggas like they put up for adoption I rock loaded, I never get promoted But through the bullshit my crew stays devoted While you be bustin lyrics bout the guns y'all niggas toted I'll be standin like a b-boy with both arms folded But no exucses, I still get the loosest When RIco's in the house tryin to grab the mic and juice this So back the fuck up like we told you last time Cause it's the Liks in the house with the ninety-five rhymes Chorus: Repeat 4X We can do out thing (we can do our thing), bottoms up! Verse Two: J-Ro I wake up, kill a roach, call the homies, hit some weights Reminesce about the shows we did in fourty-eight states Banned in the rest, but we was on tour with who De La, and Quest, we made the crowd say yes (yes) Now it's like fuck, Make Room, move your ass out my way Bay-bee, bay-bee WIth all these hoes around clwon, why you wanna bang? Let's have a celebration like Kool and the Gang I bring it all the way back, like a punk return I rock some spots and call more shots than Chick Hearns The only MC I like is Amante I was drinkin Asti Spumante wit cha auntie Bust them lyrics shots from the AKG When it comes to style and finesse, I'm the epitome Hit a beat, make em all retire, flyer Higher than a jet, like Stet I'm on fire Causin pain like a runaway train you don't stop Drop the track, now watch it flow back to the top I'm the J-R-O, not J-E-R-U And you know what we came to do, bottoms up! Chorus Verse Three: King Tee When you hear screams, that means King Tee walked in The advertisement, and that nigga's bent Raise up off the wall, bitches Last Call Ready for the ruckus, pushin motherfuckers off the stage Teela's got a brand new gauge So Make Room, for the crew with beats that I got a complex I guess I bust best with stress A mess, don't bring that shit to the West, cause Uhhh, I bring drama, like Jeffery Dahmer Choppin up MC's with they mama Ah-hah! Oops I made a funny with the dozens The one-est, who busts rough rhymes for the cousins Super Nigga's comin! Faster than a bullet Leapin over buildings, wavin at the children And don't even trip cause the Alkaholiks funk don't cease Tash I'm up out this piece Chorus (repeat until fades)