Hip Hop Drunkies [Album Version]

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Tha Alkaholiks

Tha Alkaholiks, also known as Tha Liks, was an American hip hop group from Los Angeles, California. Since the early 1990s they have produced funky, upbeat, hedonism-themed party music with a hardcore hip hop edge, powered by the beats of DJ and producer E-Swift (born Eric Brooks in Columbus, Georgia, raised in Toledo, Ohio) and the lively, comedic rhymes of J-Ro (born James Robinson in Los Angeles) and Tash (born Rico Smith in Cincinnati). Though commercial crossover success largely eluded the group, they maintained a dedicated following on their native West Coast, throughout the United States and worldwide. more »


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What's yo' name? 
What's yo' naaaaaame? 
My name is, Ol Dirty Bastard, and I'ma alkaholik 
Yeah me too nigga 

You're now rockin with Tha Liks so start reachin' for the ozone 
I see some girls I know but y'all look different with your clothes on 
What's up though, Tash came to steal it like the Grinch 
While I'm leavin' niggaz puzzled like I said my shit in French 
But it's all Olde English that I'm bringin' from beneath 
Try to bite my style on wax and watch these lyrics crack your teeth 
Cause I make words Connect like Westside when I test glide 
My drunken lyrical hanglider, nobody's tighter 
Than a ruff rap provider, with ninety ways to peel ya 
So I know the three words (Tash'll kill ya) sound familiar 
I filter out the weak every time I speak 
I drink to hit the peak to make my mind go (beep) 
I'm def-da-fyin, you rappin' like my client 
Tryin to scrape me for the style that slam harder than Kobe Bryant 
Be quiet! This is Likwidation from the West 
Motherfuck ya boozy show, I got my own special guest 

Yo, yo, breaker breaker breaker one-nine 
I bust this bitch in the behind with the silver shine 
Cause she thought she was fine 
She winked at me, I thought it was fine 
This nigga poutin', this hoe was mine 
I had the alcohol in me, took my time 
Let a nigga ro-tate turn on the table 
Put in the diamond needle, pull it to your ego 
What? You the king in the chair on my ground 
The Tyson of sound, it's twenty seconds to a round 
Scavenger nigga, youse a shrimp, a full line of shit 
My ear can't digest it 
Stop drinkin' all that motherfuckin' water, let's take it to the land 
So I can Godzilla up your sheeit, Mr. Tiny Tim man 
Niggaz be creepin' up my beanstalk 
When I start to come down on your fuckin asses 
Try to chip shit on up, get these nuts 
Motherfucker what!! 

The Ro pimped the flow like a hoe, so I should rap on the mack-raphone 
My rhymes hittin' hard enough to crack a bone 
I divide square MC's like math 
Bend you in half and drink a Genuine Draft 
I stop him, then I skied out with all wampum 
When he's layin on the ground, I let my Dog Scrilla chop him 
(Switch reels) I feels its all about skills 
The outcome's unbelievable like Tyson/Holyfield 
Your lyrics are loaners return em to they rightful owners 
My style is wild, like G's or the pistolas 
No need to ask, I put you on like a ski mask 
We can Fight the Power like this was P.E. class 
I Bomb Squads like Hank Shock 
Peace to my nigga Scott puttin' stickers on the block 
I drink more Brewsters than Punky 
It's the further adventures of the hip-hop drunkies 

You bithces are hoes 
Put it in ya like my motherfuckin hoe 
Or in your butthole/earhole 
Whever the f*ck it goes 
(repeat 2X) 

Yeah, yo, yo, yo 
No disrespect to any architect 
Who tried to perfect, oh what the heck 
I'm a MC director, rhyme inspector 
Rated top ten, Brooklyn borough sector 

Its the Packtown original be-boy I'm rappin' 
What's happenin', so dope got the pope clappin' 
I'm smackin', on some chicken, what you kickin' 
You trickin', while I'm vickin' hoes you stick your dick in 

Step outta place, Tash'll smack your taste out your face 
Cause there's nowhere to hide unless you move to outer space 
Cause I waste motherfuckers like toxic fumes 
So you betta (make room) when you hear the (boom boom) 
Hey sugar plum, how can you assume 
That the pitch of the volume, doesn't have no tune 
I'm not your everyday, regular rap star peddler 
One on one at your rap seminar 
Beware of the hard way, three's the hard way 
At you fuckers 

So aiyyo, my name is J-Ro 
And my style is so dope they call it ya-yo 
I don't rap fast, I love green grass 
Nuttin' nice on the mic, call me a mean ass 

Extra da-llama, bring hahaha 
Extra extra bring the da-llama 
Verse a better one, then slice-a-versa 
God acre, massacre murdered 
Also known as a rap wrecka, not a rhyme rebel 
You're just rhyme to survive streets 
True beaters, minerals and rhymes survive lyrics 
Like the acre without the attic, but not the only Asiatic 
True God but my dick is my lightning rob 
Hoe don't kick that mumbo jumbo

See this the type of shit niggaz don't try at home 
I come funkin' up the spot like Micheal Jordan's cologne 
With the megadrunken, style to keep the crowd pumpin' 
Niggaz lookin' at me like, 'Tash is up to somethin' 
(Get drunk and I stumbled) but I didn't come to trip 
I came to bring it to ya humb-le 
Tumb-le all your plots and all your plans 
Ol Dirty's in the house and that's my motherfuckin' man! 

[Repeat x2]
It's the Likwid crew 
Comin' through with Ol Dirty from the Wu 
Passin' your party, jettin' out with all the brew 
So what y'all new, niggaz think you want to do?

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Lyrics © CAK MUSIC PUBLISHING, INC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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