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