(Intro.)
Yo yo. Now welcome to the mixer.
Yeah, your boy Chalkskin servin’ it up real good.
We got Pops keepin’ the bevarages cold.
Yo yo. We got J-Man gettin’ all salty. Offerin’ up body shots.
Yeah yeah. And your chaser? We got Rich Prophet, A.K.A. Richie Cunningham, A.K.A. Ronnie Howard, A.K.A. that kid from “The Music Man.”
So raise your glasses. We gonna have a good time!

(Hook.)
I got a fo’ty last night. I drank it fo’ times. Fo’ times. Fo’ times.
I got a fo’ty last night. I committed fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes.
I got a fo’ty last night. Now I’m doin’ time. Doin’ time. Doin’ time.
I got a fo’ty last night. And I wrote this rhyme. This rhyme. This rhyme.

(Verse 1.)
They say you can’t buy happiness. I buy it by the ounce.
It’s better than Viagra. I’m ready for the pounce.
Sweeter than candy. Crafted with loving care.
Good on the go. I can drink it anywhere.
An excellent cough syrup and sleeping remedy.
A killer of flat screens when mixed with the Wii.
Every weekend I’m on a nine day bender.
Get high like Whitney then crash like John Denver.
I had a one sixty. That’s forty times four.
Like the Hulk, I got smashed. Got hammered like Thor.
Drivin’ down the 101. Rollers up in my rearview.
Pullin’ my car over, prayin’ that I don’t spew.
Cop strolls up. Whoops! D.U.I.
Alphabet Z to A. Johnny Cash. I walk the line.

Cop: Son, have you been drinking tonight?
M.C. Chalkskin: Just like fo’ fo’ties.
Cop: We’re going to need to do a field sobriety test. I’m callin’ for back up.

Aced the test like Stephen Hawking. Pretty sure I passed.
Then I got real stupid, and I fell on my ass.
I lay there, got sick, blew chunks on my Reeboks.
Then I spent the night with Bubba and Ice Pick in detox.

Inmate: Is this your first time?
M.C. Chalkskin: First time for what?

(Hook.)
I got a fo’ty last night. I drank it fo’ times. Fo’ times. Fo’ times.
I got a fo’ty last night. I committed fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes.
I got a fo’ty last night. Now I’m doin’ time. Doin’ time. Doin’ time.
I got a fo’ty last night. And I wrote this rhyme. This rhyme. This rhyme.

(Verse 2.)
Pop’N’Fresh! Forties since I was first born.
Swimmin’ in the stomach full of beer in mama’s womb.
You think I’d get wasted off four forties in one hour,
But you’d never thought I’d stick beer in my veins for pleasure.
The amount that I consume is really hard to measure.
My bladder’s so immune, I’ll be ninety with no diapers.
Beer never slows me down. Just makes me hyper.
Put me behind that wheel as your designated driver.
If I say that drinkin’ hurts, I’d be a liar.
Drinkin’ only hurts at the hang-overs due to no water.
Inspired? I hope that you are, so let’s drink.
So pass me the forty while I’m pukin’ in your sink.

Aw. Clean up on aisle 12. J-Man, get in here!

Chillin’ on the block when up walks this dude with chalk skin.
He ask me for a couple forties. I said I gots him.
Drank a couple bottles, introductions all in hand.
Now the tightest M.C.s rollin’ with the J-Man.
Strap on a couple jetpacks with trashbags of forties.
Blast off, drop ‘em down the hood’s chimney ready to party.
They filed out. Single file now.
And they were gettin’ down.
This dude’s even dressed like a clown.
Rip off my suit to reveal a cape with a “J.”

I shout, “It’s all in a day’s work,” and fly away.

(Hook.)
I got a fo’ty last night. I drank it fo’ times. Fo’ times. Fo’ times.
I got a fo’ty last night. I committed fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes. Fo’ crimes.
I got a fo’ty last night. Now I’m doin’ time. Doin’ time. Doin’ time.
I got a fo’ty last night. And I wrote this rhyme. This rhyme. This rhyme.

(Verse 3.)
2 forties. 3 forties. 4 forties. I’m ready.
Hundred sixty ounces of beer in my belly.
Vision is blurry. Breath is smelly.
Burpin’ hella loud, and my knees are jelly.
See me on the corner standin’ in my drunk stance.
Watch me weeble wobble while I do my drunk dance.
Changin’ my style ain’t in my plans.
Rather drink beer than Champaign from France.
Spill a little for the homies off the top.
I’m drinkin’ my forty right in front of the cops.
Now go on, guzzle it. You don’t stop.
It don’t matter if you spill a couple drops.
Spill a little for the homies. It’s all good.
Drinkin’ my forty with my boys in the hood.
Now go on, guzzle it. You don’t quit.
I love my forty. My forty’s the shhhhh….

*unintelligible murmurings*
I think I got like four drops in my forty, man. Let’s hit the L.A.Q., man.
I think I saw a Circle K.
Hey, Chalkskin, let’s bounce, man.
‘Ite.
Pop’N’Fresh, let’s do it.
Remember, sip that forty through a straw, baby.
J-Man, let’s bounce.
J! J!