The Next Level

[Chorus] Welcome to the next level The L-I-K-S, what makes them motherfuckers so damn fresh 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 Cucamonga, 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] 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 Acapulco 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 Cienega, at the Ramada But hold up, I'm not done yet I get hard like the perm pimps wear on Sunset So recognize when you feel it DITC, you can't steal it, aight [Chorus] My men, my men [Chorus] 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 Exceeding Visa limits if the tab's on you I get drunk and reminisce 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]