Intro: Bartender and J-Ro    Yo last call, last call, last call for alcohol!  At two, you're through!    {J-Ro} Ay bartendah! Bartender!  {Bart} Yo whassup man?  {J-Ro} Ay man, man let me get a... rummmmm an coke  {Bart} Yo man don't you think you had a little bit too much to drink?  {J-Ro} Ay just let me get one more man  {Bart} Yo man I'm lookin out for you man, it's your life  {J-Ro} Man I'll hop over this motherfucker and get my OWN damn drink    Hey niggy, what time it is...    Verse One: Tash    It's time to roll my sleeves, fuck a few MC's up  Another rough cut, from the crew that won't ease up  The Alkaholik click, AKA the forty downers  Flips rhymes like Calvin flips fries and quarter pounders  I never drink and drive cuz I might spill my drink  I failed the breathalizer so they took me to the clink  Niggaz earlin in the sink cause they can't fade the Cisco  I'm from the old school but I never rocked a disco  Loops from the group that, likes to smack the bitches  Tha Liks is hittin hookers like a gangsta hittin switches  Front, to the back, to the side, to the side  And make you dance with these bitches but, no electric slidin  And I'm about to flip, but first I'm bout to sip  Off the forty ounce of brew that I was savin for the trip  Back to the lab cuz all I do is bang cuts  That's why I hang around my group like a dick hang with nuts    Verse Two: J-Ro    I push one two's when niggaz step on my shoes  Oh you haven't heard the news I've been giving fools blues  Manhandling chumps that step up, just to keep my rep up  I push my fist through your grill  I never became a gangsta, thanks ta, my skill  on the nine inches of steel  You ask me what the K's for, they don't mean nothin  ["K's for the way my dee-jay's kuttin" -- Schoolly D, P.S.K.]    Chorus: Tash, group    Last call y'all {call y'all}  Call y'all {call y'all}  {Last call, for alcohol}  Last call y'all {call y'all}  Call y'all {call y'all}  {Last call, for alcohol}    [J-Ro] Yeah... word  [Tash] Alkaholik style nigga    Verse Three: E-Swift    Uh, I be one of dem niggaz known to drink a gang of brewskis  Float like the wind, so all y'all can call me cool breeze  Cooler than my man Morris Day in the winter  The dope rhyme inventor, rockin shows at the center  So pass the mic on the, down low  Now go grab a forty from the liquor sto'  And you don't stop {don't stop} and you don't quit {don't quit}  Unless you're in the studio making wack shit    Chorus    [J-Ro] Yeah... that nigga Squid is in the house    Verse Four: J-Ro    I got a forty-four Mag with the clip (with a clip)  So MC's watch your lip, cause I'm shootin from the hip ahh  I rip like Oprah, in tight jeans do  and splits a needle wrap a pair man because them shits is on the fritz  It's crazy, a few MC's amaze me  With this Alkie style of rock, Mr. Spock couldn't phase me  Rhymin pays me, but I do it anyway  Many say, AY, when it comes to rhymes you got plenty J  I'm so cool I drink forty ounces of freon  You never see me on the stage with a peon  When we on the microphone it's like Jordan all alone  We slam, competition, scram damn  Can we get along? Nope.  Switchblade to the throat to MC's who ain't dope  Call me J-Ro the clepto, cuz I'm stealing to the jaw  Of these half-baked rappers, trying to get raw    Verse Five: Tash    Soul in my strut, muscle in my hustle  It's just a little something for them punks that wanna bust they little  Def Jam Comedy, raps that make me crack up  You better call the one-time and tell em send a backup  Cuz I'm about to act up, I couldn't kick a verse  J-Ro say he Got It Bad, so that mean I got it worse  Check uno dos, crack a forty, make a toast  Let me rip the instrumental and impress the West coast    Chorus    [J-Ro] Uhh... damn it feels like my bones is rattling   Uhh ohhh shit! I'm outta here...     Ohh yeah, tell the sons of Jones to kiss my ass