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