Turn The Party Out Lyrics

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