Verse One: J-Ro



I'm the beer rational outta national

My cash flow is thick like mashed potato-oes in the gravy

Wsup wavy, thanks to my homey King Tee-la

the host wit the most, Im coast to coast like Aunt Peela

the Cowboys beat the Steelers so nigga where's my $50

boom bap to your cap if your eyes is lookin shiftee

In this game of rappin your ass will never win

and let you play b-b rickers wit Quik, Suge and Mack 10

who need to come join these words like conjunction

a friend before I bring the end to your bodily functions

when I speak I go deep, like when I'm stabbin it

You comin up empty like your Mother Hubbard's cabinet

Cause you keep comin wit rhymes guns so deeply

Example is the school of mankind niggaz so peep me

you Range-Rovin, Tommy Hil and bustin glocks

while I'm in the studio bustin lyrics in my socks

and the A-C is broken, no jokin

we got the worm witout the coke-in

the fuckin DAT machine is smokin

The pizza still aint here, we out of beer

and I think this motherfuckin engineer is a queer

and my dip is blowin up my hip whats up honey

(eh J-Ro the land lord really wants his money)

AWW shit



Chorus



Contents under pressure, contents under pressure

I hope for the best and expect the worst

get stress off my chest everytime I bust a verse



Verse Two: Tash



Ain't no describin

the way that Tash be feelin when he's vibin

be feelin like a deadly secret agent on assignment

dont fuck wit microfilms, I want the microphones and tables

that some niggaz stole while I was at a meeting wit my label

cuz Tash will rock your cradle wit the fatal rhymes that pound

put you down cuz your lyrics suck more than Divine Brown

while Im off that Royal Crown gettin party at the Atmospheric

wit the 40's and the Hennesy to get yall in the spirit

so bounce to the lyrics of the noble Likwit warrior

get the stress out or try to maintain like X and Gloria

poundin your surroundin stuffin at you from the Liks

styles harder to decode than grafitti on the bricks

so read my tag and weep, while I drive you off the deep

wit the Alkie style that rock you and made Quantum wanna leap

cuz Tash in the streets plays for keeps on micros

its the never ending quest for west coast rap titles



Chorus



Verse Three: J-Ro, E-Swift, Tash



Yo I walk in the place, kicks un-laced

wit a bitter beer face, (a 40?) naw a whole case

wit flows like these, we not your average MC's

we be the drunken masters of ceremonies

these rappers come out hard then turn fake like rayon

put I choose to stick to the streets like a crayon

in order to go pop, we'd have to stop comin fresher

Contents under pressure....



And there ain't no tellin when we bout to explode

like tall cans in the freezer when they get too cold

we gotta title to hold, west coast ghetto gold

more than half a million know these beats got soul

we still under pressure, thats my motivation

to let this drunk technique leak thru out the nation

Im stressed out, for weeks wit no sleep

and no roll in the studio cuz I know this shits gotta blow



When you see me on the mic we go buck for buck

We only battle decent niggaz, so be glad y'all suck

Cause if I take ten steps and turn around I'll destroy ya

Cause my style be up in niggaz like I'm Oscar De La Hoya

The crew you got before ya, Tash the top gunner

so try to stay on float while the current pulls you under

Cause read what it stands fool, like on the bulletin

wit skills they couldnt teach your ass at Cal State Fulleton

I'm in the zone like the Bulls at home

wit mad stains on my shirt from all the beer and foam

Cause the crew wit all the brew, buries squads like treasures

Wit the Hennessee and Coke tryin to deal wit life's pressure