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