Текст, перевод и аккорды “Last Call”
- 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
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