Welcome to the next level
 The L-I-K-S, what makes them motherfuckers so damn fresh
 Verse One: J-RO
 Youse a nigga everybody diss cause you can't bust this
 You got a bad name like Dick Butkis
 Welcome to the next level, of rhyme flowin
 Scratchin, hookin up beats, and hoe catchin
 Everytime I come home, I got fifty messages
 I only call back the girls with big big breasteses
 Ooh, I got bitties, in all the major cities
 The safest way to have sex is right between her (tittes)
 I beeped this fillie from Philly, we was puffin on a phillie
 She started actin silly, so I popped her like a willie
 I'm like Kukamunga, I'm way out
 And you know I got the flow that'll never play out
 I was raised in Cali just like a palm tree
 I rock the mic from London to the Mohabi
 Tash Diamond D and the Ro to the J
 Amazing feats happen when we come out to play
 Chorus
 Verse Two: Diamond D
 Out the funk bag of tricks
 Just for kicks, I represent with the Liks
 So here's the vicks, I'm hittin harder than a brick
 Tricks get slick, and face the dick real quick
 You better recognize, adjust your bifocals
 Your style is local, I sit on beats in Acupulco
 I put words together like Peter Jennings
 And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Flemming
 So woah to those who owe
 From one oh four five six to nine oh two one oh
 I'm sippin on pina colada
 Two blocks off La Seneca, at the Ramada
 But hold up, I'm not done yet
 I get hard like the perm pimps wear on Sunset
 So recoginize when you feel it
 DITC, you can't steal it, aight
 Chorus
 (Tash) My men, my men
 Chorus
 Verse Three: Tash, E-Swift
 For all my niggaz in the places with blunts in they faces
 Off the two turntables with the anvil cases
 It's the L-I-K's that blaze and amaze that
 [Gots to roll deep] in these crazy-ass days
 Bu the Alkaholik rhymer, King Tee and Diamond D
 Got the gats pointed at ya like we're to round three
 Cause nineteen ninety-four is the year we overdo it
 With the house party beats and flowin like fluid
 Cause ain't nothin too but to do that shit and print it
 But it's all about the loot so every move is documented
 And vented, by the man born for lyric kickin
 Coolin out with your bitch eatin sweet and sour chicken
 Exceeing Visa limits if the tab's on you
 I get drunk and reminesce about the shit I used to do
 We used ta, take out crews as a hobby after two in the lobby
 Me, Mike D, and my beatbox Robby
 Sendin kids back to the lab for more practice
 The only way they'd win, if we battled to see who's the wackest
 Ten years later, still a hip-hop slave
 A prehistoric b-boy makin beats in my cave
 The L-I-K-S, what makes them motherfuckers so damn fresh
 It's the, liquid flows that we spillin on ya
 Broadcastin live from Southern California, and we out
 Chorus