Lyrics
That’s the Alkaholiks functions, conjunction junction
The remix version for all the brothers out there
That got shit on they chest and just wanna let it out
Anything you could do I could do fresher
When I’m on the microphone I rock the shit without no pressure
Cause I snuck my forty ouncer past the bouncer with the stun gun
I gots to get some lyrics off my chest, so let me run one
Cause who’s bad? Not Michael Jackson when I asked him
I even rock the mic for seven days with Toni Braxton
It’s the, Liks, rockin' like a six point six
So while I be scoopin' bitches you rush the porno flicks
For reals, I gots more skills than an occupation center
I got your ho cookin my dinner
Action, lights and cameras ain’t needed
Indeed it’s, the nigga that be gettin rappers heated
I’m J-Ro, and my style is darker than a mole
My rhyme is so hot you got to stop drop and roll
All the Liks releases, become masterpieces
Oh Jesus, my style is slick like pork greases
And I can’t holt it in (I can’t hold it in)
I gotta let it all out (I gotta let it all out)
They’ll say I can’t hold it in (I can’t hold it in)
I gotta let it all out (I gotta let it all out)
They’ll say I can’t hold it in (I can’t hold it in)
I gotta let it all out (I gotta let it all out)
They’ll say I can’t hold it in (I can’t hold it in)
I gotta, I gotta let it all out
I get in 'em when I sin 'em, the Alkaholik venom
I fold your clothes with your body still in 'em
The rhymes I got, hit like Ronnie Lott
The only way you take my spot is with a shot
I grab rappers by the hand and make sure they understand
That they can’t scrape J-Ro the man
A nigga who stays, in the old school ways
And just like sun rays, I can make your days
We got more soul than James Brown in platform Adidas
The Likwit crew, comin new like a fetus
So run tell your granny, your pops and your girl
Niggas like me gonna rule the world
So all aboard the J-Ro train to FunkyTown
Express from the West so it’s best that I clown
I bust the Alize on ice on down to Beck’s brew
I got more fame than Dana Dane I hold mics like Donahue
Cause I’m committed, admit it, you was +Too Legit to Quit+ it
Dancin with toilets now you can’t get busy with it
With the vintage Olde Gold gettin dusty in my cellar
I throw my shit deeper than Jeff Hostetler
So yo what you got, cause god DAMN it’s hot
It’s the Alkaholik rhymer up in your night spot
So ease up off my line, and let me rhyme
I’ll lose you like that jewelry that that bitch can’t find
On BET, and yo it’ll take a secret psychic
Cause even in the future I’mma freak it when I mic it
With flows rough enough to cut ya, beats enough to touch ya
Known to rock the cooles with the liquid rhyme structures
It’s the man with vocal tones that hurt words to broken bones
I got flows throughout my body deep rooted like kidney stones
So tap into the cold while I torch MC’s
Cause I be itchin for a scratch like the Force MD’s
But yo fuck that, Tash is in the wind with the gin
I gotta pass the mic to J cause he can’t hold it in
I can’t hold it in my friend the Liks get the most clout
We be scorin' points like Michael Irvin on the post route
And just like Troy, boy, I make your bones ache man
Just how much punishment can a rapper take man?
The homes be like «Where you been?» man I been creatin
We had you salivatin' like the dogs that be waitin'
For the Kibbles 'n' Bits, I love pits tits and rap hits
And Bruce Lee flicks, and clockin yapes with the Liks
I can’t hold it in I gotta speak my mind
There’s a lotta half-ass niggas thinkin they can rhyme
But their style is not «butter,» it’s more like «butta» without the «A»
You never think of nuttin fresh to say
The freshest DJ from the state of Ohio
I remember winning battles, cuttin up Survival
Nots to be fucked with, used to brag and boast
Packed up my Technics, now I’m on the West coast, now I
Damn, we gotta get that shit off our chest nigga
Yo before we get up out
I wanna shout it out to my nigga Diamond D