Intro/Chorus: E-Swift

Welcome to the next level

The L-I-K-S, what makes them motherfuckers so damn fresh

Verse One: J-RO

Youse a nigga everybody diss cause you can't bust this

You got a bad name like Dick Butkis

Welcome to the next level, of rhyme flowin

Scratchin, hookin up beats, and hoe catchin

Everytime I come home, I got fifty messages

I only call back the girls with big big breasteses

Ooh, I got bitties, in all the major cities

The safest way to have sex is right between her (tittes)

I beeped this fillie from Philly, we was puffin on a phillie

She started actin silly, so I popped her like a willie

I'm like Kukamunga, I'm way out

And you know I got the flow that'll never play out

I was raised in Cali just like a palm tree

I rock the mic from London to the Mohabi

Tash Diamond D and the Ro to the J

Amazing feats happen when we come out to play

Chorus

Verse Two: Diamond D

Out the funk bag of tricks

Just for kicks, I represent with the Liks

So here's the vicks, I'm hittin harder than a brick

Tricks get slick, and face the dick real quick

You better recognize, adjust your bifocals

Your style is local, I sit on beats in Acupulco

I put words together like Peter Jennings

And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Flemming

So woah to those who owe

From one oh four five six to nine oh two one oh

I'm sippin on pina colada

Two blocks off La Seneca, at the Ramada

But hold up, I'm not done yet

I get hard like the perm pimps wear on Sunset

So recoginize when you feel it

DITC, you can't steal it, aight

Chorus

(Tash) My men, my men

Chorus

Verse Three: Tash, E-Swift

For all my niggaz in the places with blunts in they faces

Off the two turntables with the anvil cases

It's the L-I-K's that blaze and amaze that

[Gots to roll deep] in these crazy-ass days

Bu the Alkaholik rhymer, King Tee and Diamond D

Got the gats pointed at ya like we're to round three

Cause nineteen ninety-four is the year we overdo it

With the house party beats and flowin like fluid

Cause ain't nothin too but to do that shit and print it

But it's all about the loot so every move is documented

And vented, by the man born for lyric kickin

Coolin out with your bitch eatin sweet and sour chicken

Exceeing Visa limits if the tab's on you

I get drunk and reminesce about the shit I used to do

We used ta, take out crews as a hobby after two in the lobby

Me, Mike D, and my beatbox Robby

Sendin kids back to the lab for more practice

The only way they'd win, if we battled to see who's the wackest

Ten years later, still a hip-hop slave

A prehistoric b-boy makin beats in my cave

The L-I-K-S, what makes them motherfuckers so damn fresh

It's the, liquid flows that we spillin on ya

Broadcastin live from Southern California, and we out

Chorus