All Outta Ale Songtext
von The Prof

The man with seven scars

Smack it up, flip it, pulled out, ′bout to fell
Sunday in the ATL and I'm all out of ale
Like a bat out of hell, tripped on a cat tail
Mutt drinkin′ out a pail, who let the rat out the cell?

Got all the ingredients and recipe, might as well
Since last week the bootlegger been in jail
If all else fail, inhale a L
Make it so they can't see us, hell via snail mail
Mind like a sewer, serve a rhyme on a skewer
Doomer step to a fine dime like he knew her
My black sister, she said step back before he kissed her
She did the dipper and the smack just missed her

Here go a list of politics like Henry Kissinger
Ninety-nine percent of rap's just a friendly listener
Unlike these dudes, my sounds for screws used to HR
Or a couple of ounces short a deuce-deuce of eight ball
Y′all know it′s time for the end when the day come
Buy an album, get rudely insulted over fake drums


Same CDs you get for free, you break 'em
Or lake ′em, make 'em eat they food like steak ′em
Why she wanna ask me if I could pass the paprika?
One hand on the mic, the other on the beeka
Every week or so, peek out the lab, go eureka
The technique to keep somethin' uniquer in your speaker
For your information, I didn′t do the beats, y'all
It ain't my fault if she didn′t move her feet at all
Skeeter, rob Peter to pay Paul
So he can trick it on Mary so she can play ball

This better have my spliff
Cut it out with all that funny hand jive, will ya?
All this trouble for a tall glass of OE
Drink it all fast and make your whore ass slowly
Remind me to remember what you told me
Holy moly, did you get a load of her roly-poly?
Yo, G, remind me to remember what you told me

Whoever don′t feel 'em feel balls like a goalie
One for the money, two for the better green
Three, four methylene dioxymethamphetamine
Told her knock me, get her clean, get the head fiend
Tell him it′s from Medellín and use oxyacetylene

Who needs airplay? It's all just hearsay
Leave a wig like it was having a bad hair day
Lyrical glide master, ask him what′s the secret
He said "Sasta," it turns you formaldehyde faster
When I'm home with my lady, I try to do Katari
One night she tried to flail me with her ukulele


Pack your heat, the villain on the cover of Black Beat
With a bunch of crackers and some snack meat

They better have my spliff
Cut it out with all that funny hand jive, will ya?
All this trouble for a tall glass of OE
Drink it all fast and make your whore ass slowly
Remind me to remember what you told me
Holy moly, did you get a load of her roly-poly?
Yo, G, remind me to remember what you told me