Turn the Party Out Lyrics by Tha Alkaholiks

Turn the Party Out Lyrics

    Intro: Tash

    Yeah, Tha Alkaholiks
    Ay J, I got a crew
    They called the Loot Pack
    And they can get crazy fresh y'all, crazy fresh y'all
    My man Jack is about to get fresh y'all

    Verse One: Loot Pack

    Check the flavor here's a rootin tootin hydraulic trooper
    Tha Alkaholik grouper in the house and when I bust the hula-hooper
    Peep my ish, when I flips next I flash with the Cracker Jacker
    A true Loot Packer
    Gettin versatile when I smile toastin to the funk
    All punks put your glass down, or end up in the trunk
    You wonder when my dope styles sound kind of varied
    The Pictionary, man with my backpack, I'll Carey
    Mariah took her back, and show her how I Pack, Loot
    Kick lyrics on originally outtrack black in fact
    People call me moody, I simply knocks the booty
    Pull up my hoody, and then I bust a Sam Goody

    Verse Two: Tash

    Bitches on my woody cuz I likes to get the loosest
    I eat niggaz up and wash em down with deuce gooses
    A Colt .45 cuz I gotsta rush the likwit
    Tash from the group that the bitches wanna get with
    I kick it from the East all the way to the West
    Yes stay away from booze that puts the hair on your chest
    And that's a little piece of advice for the kiddos
    I bust more flavor than your teacher got dittoes
    I keep it up to date or take it back like The Twist
    E-Swift is out of town so the Pack load the disc
    So, take your ass home, good night, the party's over
    If your ass is drunk, ride home with someone sober

    Yeah... Tha Alkaholiks, ah yeah, the Loot Pack
    (the party's over, it's all over) Nineteen ninety-three
    And this is how we kick it

    Verse Three: Loot Pack, J-Ro

    I'ma wreck the neck conducting props like Randy Wrecker
    The mecca licka mega-hot mega-mike checka
    Call me diesel to the easel, the weasel, the wacky
    The packy, the Rikki, Tikki, the Taffy
    One for the trouble, two for the trouble
    I gotta get snaps and spit raps on the double
    On and on to the beat I wreck shop
    scoop a rumplestil-skin then I'm out, the brother with the clout
    Be so dead on the loopa, the super-duper wrecka mic checka
    I roll soul like an old trooper
    I used to play football, now I'm into rockin
    My rhyme is the tailback, the track is the blockin
    My name is J-Ro and I've been waitin for ages
    To let the world know what I've been writin on the pages
    I don't smoke sess it's rough on the West
    OK, I confess, I puff on the stress
    I rip it when I wreck it, when I mic check it
    Brothers check the flav, check the Alkaholik record
    While I flip styles, and rip styles, and hit styles
    and hit piles for miles of styles, I still pile
    The flavor flippin funk, bringin diesel be the packer
    A trooper loop, scoop you like a hula-hoop and smack ya
    Like you stutter, I ribbedyribbedyribbedyrip styles, I'm comin
    The Loot Pack, Tha Alkaholiks keepin niggaz runnin

    Runnin, yeah, do that shit, yeah
    Turn the party out, yeah yeah
    Turn the party out, c'mon c'mon

    Verse Four: E-Swift

    You think that you can fade this, you must be out to lunch
    They call me E-Swift, I'm from Tha Alkaholik bunch
    I just downed a brew, now check out one two
    It's the Liks baby rockin with the Loot Pack crew
    Funky like Con-Funk-Shun, more style than Stylistics
    I got mo' beats than Magic's got assists so
    raise up off me, or get snatched by the collar
    The party ain't over till that fat bitch holler
    I'm in the house so check the way I flow
    Niggaz say I'm fat, everyday I say I know
    But my head ain't swoll, I stay down to earth
    Never gangbang, never claim the turf
    But I drink a gang of forties, ain't nuttin wrong with that
    Unless you go buckwild and start bustin off your gat
    *bang, bang bang*
    *stumbling*
    Ay nigga fuck that the party's over man!
    Everybody get they shit get the fuck out

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