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