Turn the Party Out

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