Tekster: Tha Alkaholiks. Can't Tell Me Shit.

I stop by the club, 'cuz it ain't shit else to do it
I'm on the guest list, it's E-Swift plus two
Stepped to the bar, 'cuz, it's a bad habit
Open mic night, so, the Liks gots to grab it

Check the mic, it sounds tight so
I guess we might rock the motherfucker all night yo
The niggaz went wild, the hoes went crazy
We dropped the microphone than we Swayze

Ooh don't I sound great when I down a black eighth
My style is much hotter than the enchilada plate
My name is James but the girls call me God when I'm humpin'
I should get a gold medal for broad jumpin'

Rappers, talkin' 'bout, back to the old school
You never shoulda left in the first place fool
Now everybody wants to be a prophet
But I won't quit rhymin' 'bout my dick so get off it

You put a rhyme together but I only dismantle it
So gimme a high-five 'cause you juts can't handle it
If rap was a swimming pool I'd climb to the top
Plus a triple-back, hand me the mic and watch the belly flop

Dagnabit, I got a bad habit
It don't matter where I'm at I seen a booty and I grab it
So niggaz step back before you get lit
I'm a grown motherfuckin' man and you can't tell me shit

You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me a hot damn thing
You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me shit

You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me a hot damn thing
You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me shit

I rock you like Lenny Kravitz, or Nirvana
I'm puttin' suckers on pause like a comma
I never ape crazy act but I got the apes a superhero
From the ghetto puttin' creases in my capes
(Up up up and away, J-Ro)

I got more hoes than a canyon got echoes
I'm rougher than Bluto, tougher than a callous
My number one football team is Dallas
Cowboys, now boys, can't you see I'm greater than?

Your grand pops is my number one fan
You get ran on the court you dribble like Manute Bol
You try to take it to the hole get that shit outta here
I'm more gifted than Christmas morning

I pull out a pen and write a rhyme when I'm boning
Me I'm tripping, let me light my Phillie blunt
Oh there goes my beeper, what the hell do Billy want

(Yo whassup J?)
Man I quit selling weed
(No I need a funky break)
Well I got what you need

You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me a hot damn thing
You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me shit

You hittin' corners with the Alkies seen you pull-out 'cuz you great
The crew who got another tape that's bumpin' harder, save it
Rhythm and blues blew a fuse, and now it ain't the same
They put a lot of Funky Drummers out the game

They samplin' the fresh hip-hop breaks, just to make a hit
That's why to me, R&B, really ain't shit
So peace to all the real hip-hop niggy roles
The ones who knows about flows and rockin' shows

I wanna say, whassup to the ladies?
I gotsta say whassup to the ladies?
From the Atlantic, to the Pacific
I gotsta be specific, they know I'm terrific

I'm pushin' up to the bars, got 'em screamin' Alkahols
Oh gosh call me Josh 'cause I'm bringin' down the walls
MC extraordinary, J-Ro came to set it straight
I never hesitate to grab the mic and meditate

In LA, most niggaz walk the same
Act the same, talk the same, drive the same
Dress the same, shoot the same, fuck the same
But this is Ro and I got my own game

I drive through lyrics like I'm riding on the freeway
And I don't give rappers, no kind of leeway
Chumps be hittin' ejects 'cause I break necks when I flex
I be housin' mo niggaz than the projects

You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me a hot damn thing
You can't tell me shit
You can't tell me shit

Yeah, this goes out to King Tee, DJ Pooh, yo the whole crew
Yo D-Pimp for makin' the track, that nigga Tash
Deadly Threat, this is J-Ro and E-Swift
Tha Alkaholiks, and it's like that