Intro:
Ladies and gentleman, that nigga king tee and the al-cum-a-holiks
Verse one: j-ro
Pooh-butts play the rear cause Im makin yapes
The rhymes aint no thicker than a, skittle grapes
A lot of girls would like to thank me, for the hanky-panky
On the mic I hold a belt, now I know no one could spank me
It took a long time for the people, to hear my rhymes
Seems like I been rappin since my birth in 69
Sorry to keep you waitin, I run rhymes like walter payton
I get a rhyme like spokes on a dayton
But I wont knock off, because I just rock off
The beats to get funky, like when you take your sock off
To all the white folks I would like to say howdy
And to all my brothers I say peace quit actin rowdy
Wack mcs in ninety-two, ew you need to take a rest
The public dont you aim the best youre softer than a hookers chest
Raps, I make em, snaps, I make em
For duties movin booties cause I shake shake shake em
And I got rhymes, funky funky rhymes
E-swift hold the needle down with nickels and dimes
I drink olde english, st. ides and mickeys
When its time to roll I throw on my black dickeys
On the mic I get wicked, like wilson pickett
I get the place jumpin like a cricket when I kick shit
Im from the west coast but dont sleep home-stimpy
Even if I was a paperboy you still couldnt rip me
I walk up and chalk up pairs like the knicks
Im all in the mix like snares, and kicks
When it comes to rhymes I get loose like belt buckles
Those who chose to oppose this nose is felt knuckles
(where you goin to? ) to the tip
(and what cha bout to do? ) bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they kick it like bruce lee
(whats your favorite brew? ) olde e
(and what it make you do? ) go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearrangin, and changin like times
I got it bad yall, I got it bad yall
When it comes to the pen and the pad yall
I got it bad yall, I got it bad yall
When it comes to the pen and the pad yall
Verse two: e-swift
Back the fuck up, gimme room to breath
Not too many niggaz can flip the rhymes like these
I freak the technique as if it was a bitch
Got more soul than the pit with a fifth
Pitch the ball, so I can beat it with the bat
Talk some shit, so I can smoke ya with my gat
Im feelin kind feelin kinda feelin kinda feelin kinda
Feelin kinda buzzed off a sack of chocolate tie
My my my ho, I like to rip the shows up
Smack the hoes that walk around with they nose up
Run to the liquor store, before they close up
Buy a few 40s, cause daily I get to up
Sit at the crib and write riggy riggy rhymes
Line after line after liggy liggy line
Yo I can get funky, buy my tape and bump me
To the break of dawn I hit the bud and pass it on
Hangin at the park, shootin craps on the weekend
My brown bag is wet cause my tall can is leakin
Starin at the cops, beatin up on rodney
While a pack of o.g.s steppin to me tryin to rob me
Just because Im dope, niggaz wanna smoke me
On the mic I get funky while youre doin the hokey-pokey
Dance steps, I think that you should leave to paula
Alkaholiks is the shit, e-swifts the smooth bawler
Is slangin these rhymes like a rock
Life aint shit but money and a glock
Dont punch a clock, but I cock a fat knot
So I can smoke a lot of pot that I roll up with tops
And ya aint heard shit yet, Im just gettin warm
Like hot butter on, say what? , the popcorn
Im headed to the top, please give me my props
My beats are fat as fuck so bump my shit in your box
I love to hit the skinz, but then again who doesnt
I love to hit the herbs cause it leave me feelin buzzin
I dedicate this chumpie to the poets who can wreck
And to all the nottie dreads I gots to give them nuff respect
(where you goin to? ) to the tip
(and what cha bout to do? ) bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many niggaz say they kick it like bruce lee
(whats your favorite brew? ) olde e
(and what it make you do? ) go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearrangin, and changin like times
I got it bad yall, I got it bad yall
When it comes to the pen and the pad yall
I got it bad yall, I got it bad yall
When it comes to the pen and the pad yall
Verse three: king tee
Up jumps the man with the loot
Rockin like a troop with the alkaholik group
Everything is kosher, got a little taller
Livin kinda phat cause king tees a bawler
I just, irritate the wack, leave em so confused
When Im checkin on the mic with the ones and twos
Sneak you a peek of the drunk technique
Cant stand up, need to take a seat
Baby baby baby its the alkaholiks
But I can freak the mic no matter how ya call it
Metaphors grand, and Im the great man
Drink a whole fifth yes I can yes I can can
The girls call me dick-em-down
Got that title rockin for the crown
Catch yall later, around next weekend
Im a alkaholik and Im late for my meeting
