Luyện nghe bài hát Last Call

Intro: bartender and

Yo last call, last call, call for alcohol!
At two, through!

ay bartendah! bartender!
{bart} yo whassup
{j-ro} ay man, man let me get a... an coke
yo man don't you think you had a little bit too much to drink?
{j-ro} ay just let me get one man
{bart} yo man I'm lookin out for you man, it's your
{j-ro} man I'll hop over motherfucker and get my own damn drink

Hey niggy, what it is...

Verse one:

time to roll my sleeves, fuck a few mc's up
Another rough cut, from the crew that ease up
The click, aka the forty downers
Flips like calvin flips fries and quarter pounders
I never drink and drive 'cause I spill my drink
I failed the breathalizer so took me to the clink
Niggaz earlin in the sink they can't fade the cisco
I'm from the old school but I never rocked a
Loops from the group that, likes to smack the
Tha liks is hookers like a gangsta hittin switches
Front, to the back, to the side, to the
And make you dance with these but, no electric slidin
And I'm about to flip, but first I'm to sip
Off the ounce of brew that I was savin for the trip
Back to the lab 'cause all I do is bang
That's why I hang around my like a dick hang with nuts

two: j-ro

I push one two's when niggaz step on my
Oh you haven't heard the news I've been giving fools
Manhandling chumps that step up, to keep my rep up
I my fist through your grill
I became a gangsta, thanks ta, my skill
On the nine inches of
You ask me what the k's for, they don't mean
["k's for the way my dee-jay's kuttin" -- d, p.s.k.]

Chorus: tash,

Last y'all {call y'all}
Call y'all {call
{last call, for
Last call y'all y'all}
y'all {call y'all}
{last call, for

yeah... word
[tash] style nigga

three: e-swift

Uh, I be one of dem niggaz to drink a gang of brewskis
like the wind, so all y'all can call me cool breeze
Cooler my man morris day in the winter
The rhyme inventor, rockin shows at the center
So the mic on the, down low
Now go grab a forty from the sto'
And you don't stop {don't stop} and you don't quit {don't
Unless you're in the studio wack shit

[j-ro] yeah... that nigga is in the house

four: j-ro

I got a forty-four mag with the (with a clip)
So mc's your lip, cause I'm shootin from the hip ahh
I rip like oprah, in tight do
And splits a needle a pair man because them shits is on the fritz
It's crazy, a few amaze me
With this alkie style of rock, mr. couldn't phase me
Rhymin pays me, but I do it
say, ay, when it comes to rhymes you got plenty j
I'm so cool I drink ounces of freon
You never see me on the with a peon
When we on the microphone it's jordan all alone
We slam, competition, scram
Can we get nope.
Switchblade to the to mc's who ain't dope
Call me j-ro the clepto, 'cause I'm to the jaw
Of half-baked rappers, trying to get raw

Verse five:

in my strut, muscle in my hustle
It's just a little something for them punks that wanna they little
Def jam comedy, that make me crack up
You better call the and tell em send a backup
I'm about to act up, I couldn't kick a verse
J-ro say he got it bad, so that I got it worse
Check uno dos, crack a forty, a toast
Let me rip the instrumental and impress the coast

[j-ro] uhh... damn it feels like my is rattling
Uhh ohhh shit! I'm here...

Ohh yeah, the sons of jones to kiss my ass