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