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4:22 | 
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from Charlie's Angles (미녀삼총사) [ost] (2000)
Oh my god
Becky, look at her butt It is so big She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends Who understands those rap guys They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute I mean her butt It's just so big I can't believe it's so round It's just out there I mean, it's gross Look, she's just so black I like big butts and I can not lie You other brothers can't deny That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist And a round thing in your face You get sprung Wanna pull up front Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed Deep in the jeans she's wearing I'm hooked and I can't stop staring Oh, baby I wanna get with ya And take your picture My homeboys tried to warn me But with that butt you got Make Me so horney Ooh, all of that smooth skin You say you wanna get in my benz Well use me use me cuz you aint that average groupy I've seen them dancin' The hell with romancin' Sweat, wet, got it goin like a turbo vette I'm tired of magazines Saying flat butts are the thing Take the average black man and ask him that She gotta pack much back Fellas (yeah) Fellas(yeah) Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah) Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt Baby got back (LA face with Oakland booty) I like'em round and big And when I'm throwin a gig I just can't help myself I'm actin like an animal Now here's my scandal I wanna get you home And --, double up -- -- I aint talkin bout playboy Cuz silicone parts were made for toys I wannem real thick and juicy So find that juicy double Mixalot's in trouble Beggin for a piece of that bubble So I'm lookin' at rock videos Watchin' these bimbos walkin like hoes You can have them bimbos I'll keep my women like Flo Jo A word to the thick soul sistas I wanna get with ya I won't cus or hit ya But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna -- Til the break of dawn I got it goin on Alot of pimps won't like this song Cuz them punks lie to hit it and quit it But I'd rather stay and play Cuz I'm long and I'm strong And I'm down to get the friction on So ladies (yeah), Ladies (yeah) If you wanna roll in my Mercedes (yeah) Then turn around Stick it out Even white boys got to shout Baby got back (LA face with the Oakland booty) Yeah baby When it comes to females Cosmo and got nothin to do with my selection 36-24-36 Only if she's 5'3" So your girlfriend throws a Honda Playin workout tapes by Fonda But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hun You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don't lose that butt Some brothers wanna play that hard role And tell you that the butt ain't gold So they toss it and leave it And I pull up quick to retrieve it So cosmo says you're fat Well I ain't down with that Cuz your waste is small and your curves are kickin And I'm thinkin bout stickin To the beanpole dames in the magazines You aint it miss thing Give me a sista I can't resist her Red beans and rice didn't miss her Some knucklehead tried to dis Cuz his girls were on my list He had game but he chose to hit 'em And pulled up quick to get with 'em So ladies if the butt is round And you wanna triple X throw down Dial 1-900-MIXALOT and kick them nasty thoughts Baby got back |
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5:33 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
[Mix-A-Lot] Yo Attitude (talk to me)
[Mix-A-Lot] We got some bustin ass marks out here [Mix-A-Lot] Claimin some motherfuckin place they ain't never seen [Attitude] Huh, sellout [Mix-A-Lot] Boy this is the S-E-A-T-O-W-N, clown [Attitude] Forever (Seatown) [Attitude] Yeah, and that's from the motherfuckin heart [Attitude] So if you ain't down witcha hometown, STEP OFF PUNK [Attitude] Mix, tell these fakes what the deal is [Verse One: Sir Mix-A-Lot] I was raised in the S-E-A-double T-L-E Seattle, born in the C.D. nigga 19th and yes LeBorda(?) pimpin was hard Caddillac was the car I wanted And I got that seven-seven Coupe with the trues and straps I couldn't roll no hubcaps, huh, it wasn't easy Tryin to compete, with my homies in the C.D. Here's my plan, funky-ass sedan Laid down with the vogues, money in my hand Hair all whipped up Carload full of freaks with the butts I used to cruise around Seward Park Flip the funky eighty-one, and La Vista Lookin for freaks to be G'd Most mini-skirts wanted please In them days boy you had to be pimpin Just to keep motherfuckers from trippin Now punks want to run up pokin With a nine double-M, is you jokin? Cause I'm packin - a HK-91 son 308's is what I run A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn't Huh, cause Seattle wasn't bullshittin [Interlude: Attitude] It ain't nothin but the real up in the Northwest (real deal nigga) So don't step to the 2-oh-6 tryin to kick up dust Or you might get floored, sucka (get FUCKED UP), think about it This is from the Attitude Adjustor [Verse Two: Sir Mix-A-Lot] Do we got gangs? Hell yeah, brothers gotta get paid Mickey D's ain't payin no way So they take to the streets with gats And they'll put 'em on ya just like that So I'm undercover, when I'm rollin through the C.D. A lot of niggaz want to get me I see a freak in front of Garfield, I swoop around the block Gang of niggaz yellin out, "Fuck Mix-A-Lot!" Do I hate 'em? Naw, I gotta love 'em They think my head is big, and I'm tryin to be above 'em Huh, but to the masses I'm just another coon Gettin paid for a little bit of boon So even though a lot of niggaz talk shit I'm still down for the Northwest when I hit the stage, anywhere U.S.A. I give Seattle and Tacoma much play So here's a shot to the Criminal Nation And the young brother Kid Sensation I can't forget Maharaji and the Attitude Adjustor And the hardcore brothers to the West of Seattle Yeah, Westside High Pointe, dippin fo'-do' rides And my homeboy Critical Mass in the back With the bat to smack back all packs who try to jack me Just because I'm in a S-E-see Droptop A-M-G The cops say Mix-A-Lot's a dope dealer But I'm more like a dope deal sealer I sell rap deals, not drug deals Handin out contracts like meals The Rhyme Cartel, I own the motherfuckin label And Ricardo got the papers on the table And I'm signin 'em, just like that No sluts so my pockets stay fat A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn't Huh, cause Seattle wasn't bullshittin [Attitude] Huh, nigga this is MY town, what you talkin [Mix-A-Lot] Punks tryin to tell me where I come from [Mix-A-Lot] Who the fuck you talkin to, clown? [Attitude] Need to shut the hell up, Seattle Tacoma strong [Mix-A-Lot] Shit, you was a young lil' rudy poot motherfucker [Mix-A-Lot] 'fore you picked up a nine millimete [Attitude] Who you smokin? [Mix-A-Lot] Punk-ass, cake, faggot ass nigga! [Verse Three: Sir Mix-A-Lot] Let's take a trip to the South end, we go West Hit Reinert Ave and bust left I'm in a funky-ass Porsche Gambala No bitches, just women on my collar S-E-A-T-O-W-N Yo' nigga is back again Huh, who you callin sellout fool? I was puttin caps in clowns when you was still in school But I choose not to talk about that So many gangsta crews now, I'd rather kick back So I drop my own style Fuck bitin somebody else, and jumpin on a pile But that's another subject, gettin back to the hood Me and my boys is up to no good A big line of cars, rollin DEEP through the South end Made a left on Henderson Clowns talkin shit in the Southshore parkin lot Critical Mass is beggin to box But we keep on goin because down the streets A bunch of freaks in front of Reinert Beach, was lookin at US They missed that bus, and they figured that they could trust us Six cars in a line and the girls was fine I had "The Wicked One" playin on my Alpine Two Porsches, two Benzes, a Ferrari Testarossa And a Rolls Royce roaster Miami Vice tried to get with this, but they didn't Huh-huh, cause Seattle ain't bullshittin Yeah I want to whassup to my DJ Punish? My boy Strange, across the water whassup LX? Bookie, Mark P, MC Fury The Group EQ, old forty ounce drinkin A.D. Always Dangerous PD2, Tribe, E.C.P. ready and willin Nasty Ness and Glen Boyd P.O.S., Brothers of the Same Mind L.S.R., High Performance Whassup Eightball? Kazzy D, Villains in Black J-1, E-Dawg, my boy T-Mack P.L.B., MC Kash My boy with the hookup on the 'zoid freak coordinator Bubba, DJ Skill and my boy are-10 Everybody in Seatown and T-Town! |
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4:05 |
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from The Beavis And Butt-Head Experience [ost] (1993)
Run for the hills cause the mack is back
I'm hookin' up girls by fact If you're stacked You can rub a big mack I gotta gas So don't worry about scraps (no no) Five foot eleven with a seven foot game Gotta big mouth piece and I show no shame Monster kinky have no morals Monster loves to get oral (ummmm!) Got ten cars and the girls like that I was born and bred to be a mack Once your sign is played You gotta put a style in your game now a days In the sixty's girls was all hot LSD had 'em given up thigh The baby boom was on I drop No more woodstock but now you got Mix-A-Lot So put me in your CD changer Watch your girl cause Mix's a re-arranger Ooo, he's sexist Doo, he's sexist Keepin Rush Limbaugh restless Well I'm da' mack and that's monster Straight chase girls through the tail cause I wants to You can call it wack But you respect this black When it comes to game I'm a monster mack -Chorus: Cause the Mix-A-Lot game is tough Big Mack, Cause the Mix-A-Lot game is tough I'm a monster mack Lookin for sex Bih bih bih big big mack Strike the pose But she aint nasty as me Cause Mix-A-Lot is stuck on freaky Can't stop tappin that tweety Give it to the needy Nope, cause I'm too damn greedy Here I go walking through the mall Don't play ball But I got game for 'em all Focus on a victim, Focus on a victim Mr. Richard is hot so lets sick em And like a Tomahawk jumpin on a SCUD Girl you got to gimp my puhh The pick up king is back buddy Tryin' to give lessons to these thick ass ballers and understudies I'm not tryin' to call you no bitch girl Don't give a damn if your poor or rich girl And we can play a pool And I'm pokin' that 8-ball cool And the bootys I still like the bootys She got a little waist doin' squats just to keep me on my duty Giant size games what I droppin' Straight freaks with these thick ol' gluts is what I'm knockin' Now the right wing wanna test me If likin' sex is a crime then you arrest me But don't tell me who to sing to Jack Cause a third of your life is in the sack I'm a monster mack -Chorus- Drivin' my car by the bus stop Till I spot a young cutie straight suckin' down a soda pop Baby girl's winkin' Mix-A-Lot's thinkin' Hope this girl's feet ain't stankin' Here we go Swing by Franglors Get a little Soul Food Now you got a brother in the mood Damn gotta get her home with the quickness For this warriors a witness No need to put my girls on tilt Cause straight up game will get your milk The nasty dog is back With straight pimp game black Ain't no shame I'm a monster mack -Chorus |
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3:31 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
Now I'm your big mal dropper, mud duck stopper
Fila on the bottom and Adidas on the topper Transform scratchin', big beat matchin' I can tell you're getting jealous by the looks I'm catchin' I hate dumb skeezers, MC beaters Drop 5 grand on my bird white needer? (i have no idea, but i think it's watt meter) Smooth like ice, don't get nice Just turn up the box for the Mix-A-Lot slice (huh huh) Y'all ready to get busy? (huh huh!) Now, buttermilk biscuits here we go SIFT the flour roll the dough Clap your hands and stomp your feet Move your butt to the funky beat (huh huh) Buttermilk biscuits (x 3) (Lord have mercy Mix-A-Lot's our here rappin' about biscuits now) We're from L.A. to the Carolinas Dip them suckers in Aunt Jemima Don't make a difference what food you make Use buttermilk biscuits to clean your plate You eat 'em in the morn', you eat 'em at night Kentucky Fried Chicken makes the suckers just right I am eat 'em with jelly it's my favorite deally Wrapped and sealed by a freak named Shelley (huh huh) Buttermilk biscuits (x 3) One day I kissed my freak, hit the street Looking for something to eat In a 18-wheeler, lookin' real swass All the girls smile 'cause I'm the big boss Said I gotta eat now, can't eat later Made a lot of noise to attract my waiter The boy walked up, and what did he say? "Say, buttermilk biscuits free today!" So what you waitin' on boy, get up shake a leg Gimme 10 of them suckers with grits and eggs A glass of Koolaid and a whole stick of butter Them biscuits make me a superfast cutter (huh huh) Now grab that can and wrap it in your hand Bang that sucker till THE DOUGH EXPANDS PUT them suckers up in your oven Grab your girlie and get a little lovin' Add a BIT of honey if you want to get funny Microwave the suckers if you want your honey runny GONNA get naughty at the Mix-A-Lot party And rub them suckers all over your body (huh huh) |
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5:07 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
My Posse's on Broadway 2x's
Verse 1 Me and Kid Sensation at home away from home In the black benz limo with tha cellular phone Im callin up my posse its time to get rippin Im freakin each sunroof to keep you suckas trippin Everybody's lookin if ya jealous turn around The AMG kip keeps us closa to the ground We're gettin good grip from the 50 series tires The Alpine's bumpin but I need the volume higher Cuz the 808 kick drum makes the girlies get dumb We're rollin Rainier and the jealous wanna get some Every time we do this sucka mc's wanna battle I'm the man they love to hate the J.R. Ewing of Seattle Picked up the posse on 23rd and Jackson Headin for the strip yes were lookin for some action The limos kinda crowded the whole car was leanin back Maharaji's watchin tv with two girlies on his lap On Martin Luther King the set looks kinda dead We need a new street so posse move ahead We all look kinda swass the crew you can't forget The mix a lot posse cold rippin up the set Chorus My posse's on Broadway My posse's on Broadway (posse up) My posse's on Broadway My posse's on Broadway Verse 2 Ahhhh rollin in my posse was getin kinda bored There's not anotha posse with more points scored We don't walk around like criminals or flex like big gorillas My homeboy Kid Sensation is a teenage lady killa Maharaji's on the def side dancin like a freak The girlies see his booty and their knees get weak Larry is the white guy people think he's funny A real estate investa who makes a lot a money Clockin lots a dollars we all got gold Cruisin in this Benz and ain't got no place to go Wheelin' 23rd we saw nuthin but thugs The girlies was to skinny from smokin all them drugs Cus the rock man got em and there butts just drop The freaks look depressed because the Benz wont stop At 23rd and Union the driver broke left Kevin shouted Broadway it's time to get def My girl blew me a kiss she said I was the best She's lookin mighty feaky in black silk dress The closa that we get the crazier I feel My posse's on Broadway it's time to get ill Chorus Verse 2 Crusin Broadway and my wheels spin slow Rollin with your posse is the only way to go The girlies by the college was lookin for a ride We tried to pick em up but we had no room inside We put em on the trunk we put em on the hood Some sat up with the driver they made him feel good The posse's gettin bigger there's much to many freaks My muffler is draggin my suspensions gettin weak Now the freaks are gettin hungry in Mix A Lot's treatin' We stopped at Taco Bell for some Mexican eatin' But Taco Bell was closed the girls was on my tip They said go back the other way we'll stop and eat at Dick's Dick's is the place were the cool hang out The swass like to play and the rich flaunt clout Posse to he burger stand so big we walk in twos Were gettin dirty looks from those other sucka crews Kid Sensation dropped a 20 and didn't even miss it this skeezer from another crew she picked it up and kissed it Her boyfriend's illin he went to slap her face My homeboy PLD cold sprayed the boy with mace Cus I never liked a punk who beat up on his girl If you don't have game then let her leave your world We took the girl with us With him she rode the bus She gave the boy the finger and the sukca starts to cuss Boy I got a def posse you got a bunch a dudes Your broke cold crying about the rock man blues Ya beat up on your girl and now your all upset She's with the Mix A Lot posse on the Broadway set chorus yeah brother you know what it is the posse's on Broadway 5 fella's and 22 freaks PLB!!!!!! yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah Get off my homeboys what is it |
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4:54 | 
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988) | |||||
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4:43 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
Get busy!
(Verse 1) Sir Mix-A-Lot bread the ultimate freak So cute in a suit, my beats can see Intelligent freak, wardrobe complete You can fold my robe, if you be my freak I got a big Cadillac with the bass in the back Try to take my freak, boy you must be whack Bicep's flex, so kiss my neck Buying pounds of gold with royalty checks And I'm Swass ... (Chorus) Don't you wish your boyfriend was swass like me (swass) Don't you wish your boyfriend was swass like me (swass) Don't you wish your boyfriend was swass like me (swass) Don't you wish your boyfriend was swass like me (Verse 2) Gold gettin live in a fresh fruit vest I'm the king of the beat in the Great northwest Packin more dollars than chase Manhattan A, after eaten sure my billfold fatten, yeah Yep, my phone be ringin like you wish yours would But my girl stays cool cause she looks so good Punk motherf**ker... call me weak Just turn up the bass and feel this beat Feel my bass drum ... (Break) ("Stop it, get silly, swass") - 4X ("Stop it, get silly, swass") - backwards - 4X (Verse 3) Now the ground be shakin, when my bass drum's breakin ("Stop it, get silly, swass") Suckers in the crowd think the boy be fakin ("Stop it, get silly, swass" - backwards) Now put this beat in your Nissan truck ("Stop it, get silly, swass") But don't start cryin when your woofers get stuck ("Stop it, get silly, swass" - backwards) Check it out ... (*solo of the beat*) Hit bigger! (Verse 4) I done 23 points when I count my bank All imitators I will spank I'm a freak and I know it, so why not show it I design my rhymes like a worldwide poet NEW freaks every week in my contract So cold with the rap you'll get contact Innovative beats with a brand new twist Don't you wish your man could rock like this Break it down ... (Chorus) (Verse 5) Eighty dollar slippers to wash my car It attracts more freaks than a beach lifeguard Ah, imitate me and you'll bring about pain Better wear dark shades when you look at my chain Swass, point, no introduction I come complete with freak instructions I work for myself don't have no boss Boy you gotta have brains if you wanna be swass And I'm swass ... (Interlude - Female talking) Oh Mix-A-Lot you know I want to, Oh Mix-A-Lot you know I like you (backwards) - 4X (Chorus) - 6X |
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3:53 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
Got a real fine freek with a real big butt,
She gets real ill when she hears my cut, Got two cadillacs one blue one gold, Got straps on the back with a fresh set of Vogues, Wheel on the back and grill on the front, 24 carrot gold on my trunk, Got a rope like a python hanging 'round my neck, And my freak in my arms cold kickin on the set, Never get ill cause im two damn SWASS, Got a funky trans-am with a duel exhaust, L.A. is fine but Seattle is my home, Hood ornaments gold cause i dont like chrome. That's rippn' That's rippin' Chillin, never illin' in the place to be, Now I'm the m-i-x-a-l-o-t, On the West coast drive big Cadillacs, No white paint jobs with a wheel in the back. Sets talk smack, but they cannot hang, But you got to have brand of computerized game. You get mad cause your girl wants to play my, You know you want to hear it, put the record back on. That's Rippin' That's Rippin' I'm real estate investor, hard core dresser, Money countin' brother and I hate polyester. Walkin' on the wild side, pullin' gold snaps. I know you're gettin' jealous cause I got it like that. Cruise Broadway on my cellular phone, Spent a hundred thousand dollars on a brand new home. Dog in front yard, fence in the back, Freak by my side and a Fila hat. That's Rippin' That's Rippin' Rip this!! Rollin your Nissan, kickin' my beats, With my girl by my side lookin' oh so sweet, Got Fila on my feet and gold on my neck. Go cold carry cash cause I never write checks. Bankroll so big I can hardly hold it, You once had a dream but your Grandma stole it, Punched in her in the eye and took my bank back. You ever wonder why I'm like that? Cause I'm Rippin' That's Rippin' Yeeeaahh You like this beat, but it's time to change. Not gonna get ill, but I'm gonna get strange. Push yo partner, throw 'em in the isle Gonna kick live with the sqauredance style |
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4:28 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988) | |||||
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0:8 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988) | |||||
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5:24 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
I'm a hip hop soldier ...
I'm a hip hop soldier All you wannabe gangstas, drivin' Volkswagens Chillin' at the high schools, broke but braggin' Under educated, your style is dated You talk behind my back and your rope's gold-plated But I'm back to take revenge, my beef will never end I'll tear your midsection, 'til your body start to bend Like a pistol, I'm a smokin' I'm crushin', not jokin' Whippin' sissies for a past time, and no I'm never chokin' I blow away suckers with the flicker of my index Not brass monkey, it's a natural reflex Go getter tactics, makin' suckers holla A vicious motherf**ker with a rope around my collar I carry lots a cash, I whip a sucker's ass I drive a big Caddy, and I pull the trigger fast Down at Arnold's on the Ave, I fight 'til the death I let you suck my in my chest, and then I break your damn neck I got the cold beats rippin', your needle's not skippin' So many damn weapons that the military's trippin' People in Seattle hate me, cause I'm not like a hood But you rock heads wish that you could Be a hip hop soldier ... I'm a hip hop soldier Now let's get one thing straight, my weapons are great You 22 automatic suckers are late Got a quarter Moon clip, and a Smith and Wesson I'm about to give you roody-poos a cold gun lesson I'm the wizard of mayhem, master of destruction Got a 44 mag, with the blunt instructions Page 1 says open, page 2 says feel Page 3 says cock, page 4 says kill A mini 14, full combat dress A thirty round clip, and I ain't takin' no mess Cause I'm a rough eyegrasser, a camouflage dresser My M16 has a flasher presser My Sterling mark six , it's funny but it hits It looks sideways but the sucker will kick A pack of dangerous beretta, kinda small but its good Some of you wannabes wish that you could Be a hip hop soldier I'm a hip hop soldier Now I'm about to get go, so I better clean up I'm not avigatin' crime, but you gotta get tough I don't believe in gun control, the theory is proven Give a criminal a gun, and your public is losin' For you gotta fight back, cause the pigs ain't black No protection in your section, now it's time to act A 22 won't due, you need rapid fire I'm a ammo gum gun buyer Big battle rifles, can make a suckers day You mess around with me so lot, you might get blown away Wearin' 5 gold rings, never intimidated In Seattle they are jealous, cause a brother has made it But they don't mess with me, cause they might get Iked I'm not a gay rapper, I don't like to get knifed The devil made me do it, and I wannabe good Don't you roody-poos wish that you could Be a hip hop soldier ... I'm a hip hop soldier ... I'm a hip hop soldier ... I'm runnin' hollow point bullets, in my 38 So if you plan to get ill, you better stay in your place Cause I'm not a game player, I'm just a rhyme sayer My vigilante group includes my mayor I pack two uzis cause they stop all crime You might get yours, but don't let me get mine I never beat woman, romance is better If a freak wants to leave, boy you might as well let her West coast rappers we all bust hard When we chillin' on the set, we never need a bodyguard People in Seattle hate me, cause I'm not like a hood Some of you wannabes wish that you could Be a hip hop soldier ... I'm a hip hop soldier ... I'm a hip hop soldier |
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4:15 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
You could strike a match in my hand
too black to tan heavy metal rythem from a one man band bust my knuckles in a junkyard scuffle whippin adversaries with a brass belt buckle born in the ghetto hard like metal gotta '87 'vet with a fat gas pedal live a hard life shave wit a knife love to get freaky on the gloomiest nights (chorus) got childhood scars from the streets of my life girls laugh now they beggin to be mix'a'lots wife a new breed is here vigilanties o' rap got eyes like fire wit my boys at my back now im back for revenge all the rumors must end quickie breathin is out whole music is in alot of dummies get paid just for clappin thier hands not the style or desire of a true iron man oooh south side ruler dont drink cooler big money maker not a dumb drug user is real not drama paid pet llama met clint eastwood slapped his mama billboard thrilla avenue chilla hard rock lova and soft rock killa girls in the house watch yo blouse i am the man yo moma was warnin you about the bad boy of rap givin no slack talk behind my back and you might get slapped you might get paid but yo metal aint real your metals like mush this metals like steel! (chorus) big E gold crushin MC fussin more lines in my face than a sunburnt russin hardly ever speakin girls be tweakin buggin off the drums cuz my snare be peakin worlds most hated too bad ta be graded makin you mad and i 'm elated beat syncopater your bad im greater tougher than swarchinager in terminater guitar chord ripper perrrier sipper transboard scratcher and not a needle skipper fleash like steal mc steal mickey dees shrimp salad not part of my meal heavy drum begginer cant stand kidders hate funk metal and not a bullshitter girlies wanna kiss suckas throwin fists lotta rappas try ta rock but it aint like this! THE IRON MAN OF RAP DROPPIN THE BIG METAL, HAMMER! now thats true rap posse-up, yeah |
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4:01 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
Here's a gory kinda story, 'bout an obese freak
With a forty inch waist and a ten inch beak, Overweight and out of shape with a triple chin, Her brassiere strikes fear in the hearts of men, The Girls a bremelo The Girls a bremelo Me and Terry hopped a ferry, we were lookin Swass When a dip hit the ship we were almost tossed It was a big bremelo standing on my toe, An enormous jelly-belly tryin' to say hello I was really kinda frightened as she looked my way, I tried to run because here buns made the ferry sway To be blunt she was fat and ready for combat On the way to Bremerton where the fat is at, The Girls a bremelo. Let's Go! I'm not fakin' or mistaken' 'bout the big ol' duck, She had hairy underarms and a whoppin' gut, Her hair was short and wavy, drove my pit bull crazy, A (Bermitan)? beast chasin' fella's in the Navy, At the movie she's the feature, the Bremerton creature, Ya' wear a life jacket if ya ever try and freak her Look at her physique, she ain't my kinda freak, The floor creaks when the beast starts reaching her peak The Girls a bremelo. She's just a bremelo. Change the beat! You can't ignore the way she snores 'cuz she blows down doors, Baby's got the kinda face only a mother adores, A big basket ball head, with her ten inch feet, Big lips, No hips, with the smell of a beast, I couldn't put her in my Caddy or my tranny would break, I've heard of dirt because of poverty, but she took the cake, When it comes to Kool-Aidⓒ, the girl would drink it in pints, Ya go to school for twenty years and ya still in the ninth? Ya just a bremelo. Just a bremelo. You big, triple chinned, unattractive duck, Ya boyfriend beats freaks up to make a buck, Hangin' 'round Third & Pike on a ten speed bike, you could say that I'm a liar, but ya know I'm right Ya talk behind my back because I dropped you flat, And ya never take a shower 'cuz ya too damn fat So ya man was smart when he broke your heart Because if Mix-A-Lot'd cut cha youd'a fell apart Wearing Polyesterⓒ slacks with elastic in the back You could flatten Schwarzenegger in a wrestling match Ya got lips like a character in some cartoon With a pink posterior ya big baboon Ya just a (Elephant Trumpet) (Elephant Trumpet) Now Bremerton's a city right outside of mine, Most girls there are ducks but a few are fine But the ones that I speak about, use their faces catching trout, Vacuum cleaners for a mouth, You know what I'm talkin' 'bout Mud Ducks, Hocky Pucks, Drivers of Mackⓒ trucks, Lame brains, Deisel Trains, to pick them up you have to strain, Big Butt, Crew Cut, Extra-Ordinary Gut, Big Mamma kinda bod, make ya (?????????) kinda rough |
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4:22 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988)
(Intro - talking)
Ha hee!, hee! Why Mix-A-Lot cotton picker you freak skinnin the cats Why don't you bring the beat on in here, cotton picker so I can get down (*yelling*) Put it up That's the way I like it there Mix-A-Lot Hey Mix-A-Lot, picks me up cotton picker Picks me up Mix-A-Lot (Break) Now everybody's rappin 'bout Everybody's rappin 'bout Ever - (*repeated*) (Verse 1) Now everybody's rappin 'bout "where's their line?" I'm gonna bust me a brand new rhyme Girlfriend's down and you stomped her freak Shake your hips and act conceit Throw your head high in the air Grab your partner's derriere Fellas in the cut, I know you must be trippin My boy's got them there home girl's quippin Now grab your partner, take a bow If you can't dance, I'll tell you how Wave your hands and take two steps Grab your hips and slide to the left Get all in your partner's face Swerve to the side and show your lace If your a freak then let it show And grab your partner doshy-do (do, do ...) (Verse 2) Now if you think your partner's fine Grab her where the sun don't shine If you can't dance, then tap your toes If your stuck up, turn up your nose Wave your hands from side to side Lean to the left and take a slide Other's DJs know their no match Just look to the stage and the song's that scratched (*scratching*) (Male voice - talking) Rock me babe - 4X (Verse 3) Freaks on the left and freaks on the right Grab your partner, hold him tight Put your hands in his Levi's Hold his rear while he grips your thighs The more you dance, the more I rap The big fat beat makes your toes tap Glen Campbell can't hang with this All you freaks give your man a kiss (look good) (Break) - 4X My beats are icky That why I'm Swass (Break - talking) Beat box Oh Mix-A-Lot I'm feelin it now, cotton picker YEEEE-HA! (Verse 4) Now everybody on the floor clap your hands Stomp to the beat of the one man band Mix-A-Lot brings on the drum machine The bass line riff is "oh, so mean" Mix-A-Lot make a jam in his room With a full tape recorder you can bust jams too Throw your partner across your thigh Tickle her fast, until she starts to cry Whip her to the left, whip her to the right But don't whip her to hard cause her jeans are tight (look good) (Chorus) Get your hands off that girl, boy Seattle rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) L.A. rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) Miami rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) D.C. rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) Carolina rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) Houston, Texas rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) Your momma rocks (to the, to, to, to the Square Dance Rap) London, England rocks (to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap) To the Square Dance Rap, hot damn (Outro - talking) Hey Mix-A-Lot, what in the world is that noise cotton picker? Sound like Grand Ole Opry Hear what I say Mix-A-Lot, say sound like Grand Ole Opry cotton picker Now before we end this filthy cut, we got a few things we have to say To the home girls sprung on the hum drum beat, check out Sir Mix-A-Lot Ray His style is fresh, so clean and new, he pulls so many tricks If you give him ten bucks and a brand new tape, he'll put you in the mix A haha, hey Mix-A-Lot I caught you that time, cotton picker (Break) My beats are icky ... (*drums play until fade*) |
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4:35 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988) | |||||
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4:43 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Swass (1988) | |||||
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3:47 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989) | |||||
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4:17 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989)
Operator's voice:
(Welcome to Sky Pager) (*sound of beeper going off, appears throughout song*) (Sir Mix A-Lot) (Operator's voice) Beepers ... Beepers ... Beepers ... Beepers ... (Welcome to Sky Pager) Beepers (Press the pound key after each entry) (Sir Mix-A-Lot) I'm rollin like a Playboy beep, beep, beep Just another page, just another freak Cops say I'm bangin, girls say I'm slangin Just cause my black Cross Courts be hangin Ah huh, that's it baby Beep diddy beep, will I call you maybe Sky Pager looks like a Phaser That's the attire of a Northwest player San Jose, I got a show Chillin like a champ with a girl in a limo There we go again, I got a beep The girl got nosy beggin for a peep Get off me girl, this is business I'm workin it and you can't witness A Oakland skeeso, how do I know Cause 415 was the area code Turn it off, turn it on, so I won't get busted You know rap stars never get trusted Baby wanna get so I put it on vibrate How does Mix-A-Lot communicate (Break - Sir Mix-A-Lot) (Operator's voice) With beepers, baby, haha Beepers (Welcome to Sky Pager) Beepers (To use Sky Pager) Beepers (Press the pound key after each entry) Beepers (Please enter the pin number you wish) (Sky Pager) - 3X Beepers (Sky, Sky, Sky Pager) (Sir Mix-A-Lot) 1-800-759-7243 But if you ain't got that pin number dummy, you can't call me To hook up with Mix you gotta call that number Then sit by the phone and wonder Will he call? If you're fine I might If you're a duck (*no dial tone sound*) good night I got a cellular but you can't have my digits Motorola beeps and the boy gets with it Code one, two (Yo come on black you gonna tell her about me, what's up with that?) That's Attitude Adjuster, my homey Huggin more girls than Bella Karoli Gettin 'em sprung, bustin 'em out Rollin up dames, cause he's got that clout Pullin young females, yank 'em on the stage One fell prey when she called that page (*numbers dialing sound*) called his beeper Sweetie got sprung but he might not keep her He never called back, so she called me (Where's Attitude at? He was supposed to meet me) I don't know but I'm wishin you luck How does Attitude Adjuster hook up? (Break - Sir Mix-A-Lot) (Operator's voice) With beepers (If you wish to send message 777-9311) With beepers (Enter telephone number or numeric message Press the pound key now) (Sir Mix-A-Lot) Pagers, call 'em what you want Some brothers some brothers wear fake ones, still tryin to flaunt Walkin in a party, lookin like Joker Big ole six inch garage door opener Not me, cause my bank is set Three dope Benzos, one Corvette I'm not braggin or movin them thangs Just clockin them dollars at the real estate game (Sky Pager) Telepage Northwest, satellite service pushed to test Got a beep from a girl named Natalie My memory slip, cause I need a new battery Power on, display light's up Incoming calls from the girls with butts Girls call cause they might get lonely Ha .. I run 'em like ponies Pick 'em up, put 'em in the Benzo I get a beep and I leave 'em in limbo That's right I'm livin like that What do I keep pinned to the strap (Break - Sir Mix-A-Lot) My beeper ... Beepers ... Beepers ... Beepers ... (Sir Mix-A-Lot) Oh yeah, girls got 'em too They keep 'em in their purse, plain and cool Big players, rollin up fellas They comin up but they never will tell us Smooth, ha, I bet you didn't know The girl you called dumb was clockin your dough Jackin ball players and never gettin tossed Done worked every brother on the Seahawks Yeah, she looks good, but she thinks she's swift Tryin to pull up on the Mix-A-Lot tip Sittin in the movie, she stepped out smooth Oh baby girl, I got one too (Break - Sir Mix-A-Lot) (Operator's voice) A beeper ... (Sky Pager) -2X Beepers ... (Sky Pager) Beepers ... (Sky Pager) Beepers ... (Sky Pager) (Enter telephone number) Beepers (Or numeric message 777-9311) Beepers ... (If you wish to send message) ... (Sky Pager) ... (If you wish to send message) ... (Sky Pager) ... (Message sent) |
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4:28 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989)
Huey B. Newton shot in cold blood in west Oakland
Oliver North receives community service hours for selling weapons to known terrorists Tawana was brutally raped, but two fools said she did it to herself A six hundred million dollar stealth bomber fails to fly successfully And you say I should be proud of this song Think about it AMERICA! I'm living like hell in a world of death Protectors of the people wear bullet-proof vests Your little nephew, flipped him a Uzi Took to the streets, shot em up and then "Who me?" Locked in a trunk by Republican villains Pinstripe suits, experts at killin' Civil war, but some want out Trapped in a box called the ghetto we shout Headin' for the strip 'cause the squares ain't hip Sell a couple keys, make the home boys trip The president is a dope man's friend The governments strong but the dope got in Punish the accused, but the trial was short A black man's dogged in a all white court The jury dismissed, prosecutor says, "Can em" Now I'm ashamed of my national anthem The pentagon had a plan for a rescue They said intelligence never makes miscues The thirty-first was a day of death Lieutenant Colonel Higgins, you know the rest No negotiations with a terrorist force But Iran's still buzzin' offa Oliver North The Ayatollah's dead but the hearts not gone The burning of the flag in Iran goes on Anti-American, we're loved by few We pay big money to the ones that do The christian militia, they give us big knowledge But the pentagon messed up and wouldn't acknowledge Ollie took orders from the number one man But the crap hit the fan and superiors ran Democrats tripped, the committee said can em Now I'm ashamed of my national anthem Am I a communist? No. But my brain ain't slow Not long ago, Mix-a-Lot was po' Never helped out by the ones with clout I was mad at the world cause I felt left out Stealin' hub caps, stereos, anything to get paid I realize I'm a modern day slave Posse downtown, the sight was set I saw my home boys mother with a buggy and a bag People walk by, laughin' at poverty I looked in her face and I soon saw me College educated, but she can't get a job The American Dream once again got robbed Vietnam vets on the street, that's a shame Fight for the man, and the man plays games Dogged by the hippies, dope smokin' critics You blame it on the soldier, but your government did it My national anthem My national anthem You gonna teach me now about the care and feedin' of politicians Bolivia, Columbia, the CIA Any similarities, I won't say But the dope gets in, uncut like P-Funk Headin' over borders in a scent-free trunk Coffee over dope, but the dog can't sniff it Remember that lady that was broke, she's widdit Started with a key, clocked 17 G's Then got another shipment, pure D Headin' for Brumlen, the money was betta Rollin in a Porsche, in a cashmere sweater Crime, revenge, I'm tellin' you this The people that laugh are the people that knows Her community complained, callin' the police But where was the community when she was in the street Dope's comin' in, it's killin' em at random And I'm ashamed of my national anthem My national anthem My national anthem My national anthem I'm ashamed of my national anthem |
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4:46 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989)
My hooptie rollin', tailpipe draggin'
Heat don't work an' my girl keeps naggin' Six-nine Buick, deuce keeps rollin' One hubcap 'cause three got stolen Bumper shook loose, chrome keeps scrapin' Mis-matched tires, and my white walls flakin' Hit mickey-d's, Maharaji starts to bug He ate a quarter-pounder, threw the pickles on my rug Runnin', movin' tabs expired Girlies tryin' to dis 'n say my car looks tired Hit my brakes, out slid skittles Tinted back window with a bubble in the middle Who's car is it? Posse won't say We all play it off when you look our way Rollin' four deep, tires smoke up the block Gotta roll this bucket, 'cause my Benz is in the shop My hooptie - my hooptie Four door nightmare, trunk locks' stuck Big dice on the mirror, grill like a truck Lifters tickin', accelerator's stickin' Somethin' on my left front wheel keeps clickin' Picked up the girlies, now we're eight deep Cars barely movin', but now we got heat Made a left turn as I watched in fright My ex-girlfriend shot out my headlight She was standin', in the road, so I smashed her toes Mashed my pedal, boom, down she goes Law ain't lyin', long hairs flyin' We flipped the skeez off, dumb girl starts cryin' Baby called the cops, now I'm gettin' nervous The cops see a beeper and the suckers might serve us Hit a side street and what did we find? Some young punk, droppin' me a flip off sign Put the deuce in reverse, and started to curse Another sucker on the south side about to get hurt Homey got scared, so I got on Yeah my group got paid, but my groups still strong Posse moved north, headin for the CD Ridin' real fast so the cops don't see me Mis-matched tires got my boys uptight Two Vogues on the left, Uniroyal on the right Hooptie bouncin', runnin' on leaded This is what I sport when you call me big-headed I pot-hole crusher, red light rusher Musher of a brother 'cause I'm plowin' over suckers In a hooptie It's a three-ton monster, econo-box stomper Snatch your girly, if you don't I'll romp 'er Dinosaur rush, lookin' like Shaft Some get bold, but some get smashed Cops say the car smokes, but I won't listen It's a six-nine deuce, so the hell with emissions Rollin' in Tacoma, I could get burned (Sound of automatic gunfire) Betta make a u-turn Spotted this freak with immense posterior Tryin' to roll smooth through the Hilltop area Brother start lettin' off, kickin' that racket Thinkin' I'm a rock star, slingin' them packets I ain't wit' dat, so I smooth eject Hit I-5 with the dope cassette Playin' that tough crew hardcore dope The tape deck broke Damn what's next, brothers in Goretex Tryin' to find a spot where we could hunt for sex Found a little club called the N-C-O Military, competition. You know. I ain't really fazed, 'cause I pop much game Rolled up tough, 'cause I got much fame "How ya doin' baby, my name is Mixalot" "Mixalot got a Benz boy, quit smokin' that rock" Ooooh, I got dissed. But it ain't no thing Runnin' that game with the home made slang Baby got ished, Bremelo gip. Keep laughin' at the car and you might get clipped By a hooptie Runnin' outta gas, stuck in traffic Far left lane, throwin' up much static Input, output, carbeurator fulla soot "Whatcha want me to do Mix?" Push freak, push Sputter, sputter rollin' over gutters Cars dip low with hard core brothers Tank on E, pulled into Arco Cops on tip for Columbian cargo We fit a stereotype, that's what he said Big long car, four big black heads Cops keep jockin', grabbin' like 'gators 'Bout stereotypes, I'm lookin' nuthin' like Noriega Cop took my wallet, looked at my license His partner said "Damn, they all look like Tyson" Yes, I'm legit, so they gotta let me go This bucket ain't rollin' in snow It's my hooptie |
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3:47 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989)
Posse in effect, scramble up, new rhyme
Big Goretex, crushed down, two time Rumble in the street, neighborhood shakedown Emerald City posse, gonna take this town Suckers gettin' mad, swift kick, broke rib Serve it in a dish, name it up, rib-tip Metal in the front, big stomp, crush neck Punks on tip, call the boots, GoreTex Laugh if you want, but you might get crushed Walk through the dangerous Hilltop brush Bullet-proof, steel-toed, down to kick butt Roughin' up character who drop weak cuts One twenty five was the price tag on 'em Cool brothers buy 'em, even though they don't want 'em Style is a must, but the style is rough China Beach boots couldn't crush more stuff Strap 'em down, lace 'em up, get in the bucket Reach for the tongue, pull it out, then tuck it Ten pound boots could destruct all comers My whole posse wears them Fort Lewis runners Death to a white pair of nikes - sound effect Kickin' over big motor bikes - sound effect Steppin' over puddles in the hood - sound effect Girls laugh, but you know they look good - sound effect Waffle-like prints in the snow - sound effect Pulverize punks when we throw - sound effect Salute to the group in the booths - sound effect Bow, and we kick you in the snoot - GoreTex Hollow-point nine, to the boots, ricochet Leavin' mud prints when I romp in the rain Draw black scars on the new gym floor Pimps like to wear 'em when they kick them whores This is it baby, big shiny black boots Runnin' over punks like Iranian troops Trample, crush, hittin' like a dump truck Jump in my face and a size twelve get stuck In your butt, 'cause you wanted to box One-two punch and the GoreTex drops On your toe, your brother got caught By GoreTex boots from the GoreTex shop Git it! Posse in effect, scramble up, new rhyme Big Goretex, crushed down, two time Rumble in the street, neighborhood shakedown Emerald City posse, gonna take this town Suckers gettin' mad, swift kick, broke rib Serve it in a dish, name it up, rib-tip Metal in the front, big stomp, crush neck Punks on tip, call the boots, GoreTex |
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4:43 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989) | |||||
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4:56 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989)
(Girls voice) "Man I wish I could find me a brother with some game"
To the rescue! Here's a little somethin' for you whacked out suckers Rollin' twenty-third, sellin' dope to cluckers Your bank is thick, but you got no game Spittin' at freaks runnin' superfly slang I'm comin' up the ave' hard as hell In a droptop 'vette with a greenwood tail Girls are jockin', lookin' for a knockin' Smart investments, keep me clockin' You know a 'vette only got two seats Just enough room for a player and a freak Rollin' in the park, 'n I seen this cutey L.A. face, with the Oakland booty She's on tip, but I'm playin' that role Talkin' to the home boys, showin' my gold Skeez on bell, levi smell I'm spittin' that game, and I'm spittin' it well Rolled up, pulled up on the girly "Girl you wanna ride in my 'vette?" "Why surely!" That's right baby, blowin' me a kiss Thinkin' Mixalot gonna make you rich Highside, highside, vapors that's right Can't get play 'cause my games so tight Now she's wit' it, skirts in effect Layin' on the back-a my 'vette I got game, I got game, You know I got game, I got game POP THAT GAME Bye-bye baby, Mix gotta roll Switch to the Benz and I gotta get mo' Hit the strip, seen this skinny Butt shook like a four twenty-six hemi Not just butt, baby hadda motor Stacked to the max, hair to the shoulders She's older but I can mold 'er Dropped that game and it hit like boulders Now she's sprung, sittin' in my Benz Rollin' up the tent so you can't see in Playin' this tape of old Luther stuff "You wanna get with me, this ain't wild enough" That's a cue, sorry Luther Brother you can sing, but I just can't use ya Thought she was cool, but the girl likes beat Freak freak freak freak, baby wanna freak Def 'n dope, "You slangin'" Nope. Callin' me a dealer 'cause I sport fat rope Kept poppin' that game, knowin' I can get it "Take me to the lake, Mix, so we can get wit' it" Oh no, time for the ramble, bring a jimmy hat 'Cause I hate to gamble Huffed 'n puffed 'n I just got in Messin' up the backa my Benz I got game girl - I got game Two down, two to go. Can't live a night right if I don't knock four In a big five hundred S E L Interior hot, with a perfume smell Took it on home, hit the shower 'Bout to get busy in one more hour Ducks look, but they never will find me Hopped in my number two Benz, one ninety Here a skirt, there a skirt Everywhere a skirt, skirt Gotta have game, if you wanna get work "Ah, you ain't nothin'" Some suckers wanna crush me Smooth, wit' a move, baby girl. Rush me. Here it is, from the wizard of hip-hop A lesson in game, make the girls get hot Picked up a girl named Mattie Caught static from the sucker in a seven two caddy Mattie was hot, but her name was "not" I ain't worried 'bout that, I ain't tyin no knot Took her to the hotel, game went strong She thought I spent bank, but I really spent coupons But it's cool, 'cause my rhyme went smooth Savin' my money, 'cause my mouth is a tool Rolled up close, when I hit the spit I ain't worried 'bout my breath, 'cause I brush my teeth Popped that game, freak got weak Hit that jackpot, swept them feet Mattie got busy with the bedroom eyes Layin' on the big king-sized I got game - I got game, girl - I got game - I got game Yeah that's right home cut, I got G A M E, snatchin' up girlies an' rollin' up suckers, know whatta I mean. Through with Mattie that makes three "I'm gonna miss you babe, you gonna miss me?" Got loose 'cause the girl hadda big caboose Hadda break down 'cause the girl had juice "I'm gonna miss you baby" Smooth ain't it? Girls so sprung that she almost fainted Headin' for the crib, tired brother Thinkin' I was through til I spotted me another. Baby looks good so you know what the means Drive around the block wit' the gangsta lean Open that sun roof, crank that beat Bumpin' up the avenue, impressin' them freaks What's up baby? Rump so big The girls on tip like funk on pigs Runnin that game, 'cause I wanna get work Zip don't rip rap home girl shirt Here she comes, hopped in my car Somethin' 'bout my Benzo's stars-n-bars Spit, spit, runnin' that game I'm feelin' confident about another thick dame All of a sudden, my game got crushed Some sucker pulled up and his ride was plush Rolled up smooth, the girls was waitin' 5 point Oh, twenty four K Daytons Oh-oh, think quick 'cause my girls jumpin' on home boys tip Better change my game, try another lure 'cause home boys lookin' like Al B. Sure But it's cool, 'cause I whipped out bank Big dead presidents made her think Back in effect, situation in hand I'm the brother that the others can't stand An' I got game, I got game, you know I got game |
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4:30 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989) | |||||
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4:30 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989) | |||||
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4:47 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Seminar (1989) | |||||
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
How can a brother like Mix get played on?
Used to get my fade on, now I'm sprayin Raid on Tryin to keep my game buck proof Salt-N-Pepa said +Shoop+, now my girl done cut loose One down, too many more to go But when did my game slip, bro? Cause I can't stand when a man reads my game plan Took my number, two girl, then ran Uhhh, now she got a brother named Dexter In a drop-top, rollin down Gessler But I'm the biggest mack in this town Lose one girl and muthafuckas wanna trip now Feel me, cause I'm about to get real, see Mad suckas wanna get 'em up wit me Get back, cause I bought me a big gat Now I got him on flat back Back to the brother named Dexter Feelin kinda proud I betcha, but I won't let cha Brag to the suckas in the hood though When you's a black man lookin like Fabio So when my girl comes back Tryin to get nasty n' make Dr. Richard get fat Get me sprung, you wish you could Now Mix gotta get wit Dexter's goods (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Don't funk with my fonk (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) That's a no-no, partner (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Mmm-hm (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Mista Dexter is kinda feelin like a hero Watch Mix-a-Lot put him on zero Hit the streets in my Benz I'm lookin for Dexter's girlfriend If he got mine, I'm about to get his Cause that's the way it is in the mack biz Dexter's girl said she was his wife So now I gotta hit him with the mack knife So I pulled up (uhh!) tough, to get my mack on Baby girl tryin to show a little back bone But it's all good when she's seen That white 500 sittin in the front And get dressed, c'mon we gotta head west You can tell Mix what you wanna do next She said roll on down to the Edgewater Inn Aw, Mix done done it again A gut check, operatin on the suspect The object to make a girl's sex flex Baby starts to squiggle n' squirm And watch out baby, cause it's my turn Now I'm takin baby back home The rendezvous is straight ON Cause this is the game that I'm playin Now Dexter's bout to start sayin ... (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Don't funk with my fonk (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) I done told ya, boy (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Gotta watch it, Dexter! (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Now I'm feelin like a champ, bumpin my amps Rollin wit a pocket full o' green stamps Picked up the cellular, callin my main thang But the phone just rang Uh oh! Paranoia got me trippin Am I slippin or is another brother spittin? Backtrackin my game, I remember one loose end Everybody's seen my Benz Damn, now I'm pullin on my goatee Jealousy'll make my enemies snitch, see Too many mack rhymes, too many mack lines Now it seems I'm about to get mine Walk into the crib-ah Check in like Virgil Tibbs-ah Lookin up under the bed fah evidence of Dexter Wonderin, wonderin if ... (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Don't funk with my fonk (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) I done told ya, boy (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) It's a step, partner (Somebody, been sleepin wit my fonk) Now walk it on down |
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4:20 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
I love it when ya bounce bounce bounce,
shakin the top, shakin the bottom Can I pounce pounce pounce, chasin the boots and then I done got 'em Can I go go go? As soon as you thinkin I'm done I'm takin it slow, slow, SLOW The butt-man's back puttin ?mauls on the mud duct? Stab stab stab, Mitsubishis eat dust Steppin on the way to a club They had a big butt contest so I know I got pub(licity) SMOOTH, STROLL, step into the club I got MO, DOUGH, some jealous brothers Got BEEF, THOUGH, got fourteen mamas On my HIP, SO, don't do it bro! Five hundred dollars to the skirt wit the most bounce Mix-a-Lot is judgin so they let it all out Wet T-shirts, itty bitty skirts All my homies straight puttin in work (much work) I call it sexy, some call it sexist Can't tell a lie, Mr. Richard is restless Pump pump pump, now they got me on ?skips? The girly in the purple on the right is on hip She got a body but she can't dance a ounce To hell witcha dance moves girl, just let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) So baby in the purple got paid Now she's sittin in my car so it's time to check the age Baby girl's age is the same as her waist Deuce-four ... my taste! (mmh) Thick soul sista wit the dookie braids Fine young princess flamin wit the self made boss I paid the cost so I'm the big hoss When the skirts start to bounce I'm lost Crazy bout thickness, I get 'em with the quickness My game is straight laced, no slickness Witness the system pimp, never been simp Other wanna-bes just LIMP A THICK, RUMP, will make a +Nasty Dog+ Wanna STRAIGHT, HUMP, and if you make it bounce I'ma ACT, DRUNK, and chase it all around Until I BUMP, BUMP, no fronts in the grunts A LITTLE, MISTAKE, she got into my car Now the SHIRT, SHAKES, I'm hittin potholes Like EARTH, QUAKES, nothin 'bout the game Is FAKE, CAKE OR jake! You can bounce ya sixty-four But it can't hang with a hotty gettin wild on the dance floor And if ya can't make Soul Train, girl, don't pout Bring it to me baby, *slurrrp* and let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce, baby (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) I've been checkin out you other rappers' videos Never lookin at the rapper, just the hotty in the skippy clothes And I gotta admit this Mix-a-Lot'll ZOOMA-ZOOM-ZOOM these skirts wit the quickness All y'alls girls is fly so I'ma give ya props LOOK AT THEM GIRLS IN THE DAZZEY DUKES POP Shake that thang like a salt shaker Indecent proposal from the bank maker Doo-doo brown can make the girls in my group get down They couldn't sit down, so let that booty bounce around And they'll throw it in yo face, checkin yo manhood Ya wanna touch it if you're only good The SMOOTH, SKIN, on top of that The booty is BOO-MIN, shakin like a leaf To keep it MO-VIN, you disagree wit me Then where have YOU, BEEN, livin on the end? SIS BOOM BAH, I'm lovin to watch the body Of a SOUL SISTAH, they're shakin they booties and makin em bounce To OOH LA LA, tryin to get deep in they panties Is the MACK PAPA, change up, IIIIIII'm the one to come undone and get all sprung When her butt swung I'm gettin high-strung And all the strike a pose Vogue, miss girl, get out! Just let it BEAOUNCE! BEAOUNCE! Let it BEAOUNCE! BEAOUNCE! Let it BEAOUNCE! BEAOUNCE! Let it BEAOUNCE! BEAOUNCE! Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) Let it beaounce (Shake shake it mama) (Shake shake shake it mama) |
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3:37 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
Shake, to, my flow
Let it go when you shake that coco +I Got Game+, so whatcha know Get it up, then I hit her with the Rambo Oo-chie, coo-chie Still lookin for the supa booty Rump, chaser, rump snatcha Huh, get 'em on camera Call me a jockey Cause I'm ridin them skirts and I talk real cocky Ol mackin-ass Mix is back I'm slangin that game on 28 tracks Yep yep, pack 'em in a Benz Take 'em to my house, straight let 'em all in Call Mix-a-Lot a slut? I might get banned, but I still like BUTTS Mmmmm! lay 'em on the table Dr. Richard's willin and able Not sexist, just sexy Do I like sistas? Well, let's see She's thick, walkin with a switch Carryin a beeper, ya betta not call her no bitch When it comes to a snack-pack I can't lie I wanna RIDE! Can I RIDE? I wanna RIDE! x2 Shake 'em up like you're playin them craps Two snake eyes puttin fellas on tap What I'm sayin ain't popular nowadays But it ain't good without the mayonnaise I, can-not dance But I'm good when ya hit that stance Wham, bam, met a girl named Pam I poke and thank you ma'am Ain't no, drag in my bag Gotta do me cause I don't play tag Six-double-o hoop, costs loot Hit the gas she'll scoot When ya dance, I'm on ya When ya walk, I'm on ya When ya moan, I'm on ya I'm that +Nasty Dog+ and I tried to warn ya To the 'tel, to the 'tel we go Don't need a bed cause I'm good on the floor When a chocolate masterpiece walks by, I wanna RIDE! Can I RIDE, baby? I wanna RIDE! RIDE I'm like Tyrannosaurus Rex I sense movement then I gotta wreck shop I'm on top but down to flip-flop *scratching* 'Don't stop' So, I, won't stop Love to see that thang go pop Don't be, phony, baby show me I can ride yo pony Saddle up n' go, you can show Bo He don't know You, can, put it on a man Make me yo number one fan Some brothers wanna claim they're down Puttin on fronts like clowns But I'm packin this 9 in my glove Givin nothin but the females love, yeah! Ain't no sissy in me 4-4 mags ain't never been friendly But I like the girls +Cake Boys+ get scared in the kitty-cat world But I'm not the one to come cake Baby this game is straight Fellas in the house, you can't deny! ALL y'all wants to RIDE! I wanna RIDE! x3 |
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4:37 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:11 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
"tell 'about me baby"
Sweet brown shuga, that's what I call this female bad from the head to the motherfuckin' toenails I ain't sprung, I'm just poppin' them facts' baby is a female mack yeahuhmm eyes that kill when the loc's are peeled takin' your money if your game ain't real known to keep the ass on propa (propa) never gettin tickets from those horney-ass coppas there she go, walkin through the mall 4 inch pumps got her 6 feet tall switchin, aint' thinkin 'bout stickin looking like she never seen a kitchen just broke up with her boyfriend (boyfriend) looking for a fool with a grip of ends (grip of ends) met one, boom, there he is a rich young brotha in showbiz yeh big man, c.e.o. 6 double o are the letters on his benzo big mack daddy, bad to the bone but 3 months later it's on he done took her to the beach rubbed her feet and bought baby girl a new jeep now she's gone, you can't buy love without game but shuga gotcha lame sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" She's commin straigh outta Encino hittin football players for the c-notes (yep) picken' 'em, gittin' 'em, rarely ever kissin' 'em take 'em for the bank and then quiten' them went to the Raiders game and spotted this black quarterback with a big fat contract now she's on the visitors side line the mackin' is on when the coach calls time quick work, gotta do it slick so do it while the Raiders is kick'n they field goal put the number on the bottom of a cup "the kick is up... it's good!" later that night relaxin' the quarterbacks thinkin' he's waxen' but naa the typical line "I just don't think it's the right time" (what???) ask yourself, who's the mack baby starts buyin' moneysacks cause when the fool got to the next city Western Union straight got busy 4 G's a week and now baby got a condo sittin in Redondo so the quarterback calls cause he wanna get naked "beep beep beep" disconnected I'll tell ya son, just because you can bench press don't put ya past this test you got pimped like a straight-up sap paid money casue you sprung on the cat(huh) Bought 35 G's and now your through never got near the boots see ya, but I never would've been ya sweet brown shuga done went up in ya "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell,tell about me baby" baby starts going to the wheight room that's trouble, add more curve to the bubble the rump is pumped ready for battle caught the next plane to Seattle welcome to the 206 she's lookin for the brotha named Mix jumped in a rental car rolled to the hood brown shuga's up to no good got my digit's, gave me a call have no fear, Mix-A-Lot don't fall "riinnnngggg- yeah, who this?" "38-24-38 Mix" cliped on my pager, grabed my cellular eeny meeny miney mo and picked the number 8 car now I'm rollin' in my NSX thinkin' I'ma get some "koo-chee" met her at the mini-mart, she was in an Escort I'm kinda thinkin' 'bout contact sports when we get back to the Mix house I'm knockin' that kitty cat out!!! "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" sweet brown shuga "tell about me baby" that's what I call this female "tell about me baby" "tell about me baby" |
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4:16 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
[Swizz Beatz]
He's Phony She's Fake Thats The Type of People i Hate Hey Hey Hey JADA JADA! (Point 'em out Point 'em out Point 'em out) He's Phony She's Fake Thats The Type of People i Hate If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands Wait a Minute Whose Real Whose not? Shes Real But Hes Not If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands [Jadakiss] Yea Yo Guns Gone Clap Packs Gone Move Blood Get Drawn Skin Gone Bruise Real Gone Win and Fake Gone Lose The Love Over Powers They Hatin' By Twos All They Left Was The Yellow Tape and His Shoes Its Real When The Funeral And Wake Make The News Load The Trey-Pound So We Six Up On Em So When They Act Phony We Just Switch Up On Em [Swizz beatz] He's Phony She's Fake Thats The Type of People i Hate If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands Wait a Minute Whose Real Whose not? Shes Real But Hes Not If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands [ OJ Da Juiceman] Whose Phony Whose Fake? Silver Hummer On Eights Life's Good im Straight Clap Your Hand One Time If You Relate Cant Keep it 100 Them The Ones i Hate But ima Keep it 200 For The Ones That Fake Red And Black Cars And They Ready On Skates Young Juice Man Put Your Burner On My Plate [Swizz Beatz] He's Phony She's Fake Thats The Type of People i Hate If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands Wait a Minute Whose Real Whose not? Shes Real But Hes Not If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands [Jadakiss] Yea Yo Pocket Full Of Cash Wallet Full Of Plastic In And Out The Lanes Dippin Through The Traffic We Aint Hustlin' No More We Doin Gymnastics Couple Of Flips And Then Stash it Bastards Real Gone Reconize Real Phony Gone Reconize Steel I Recon i Will Expose Those Who Are A Few Aint But You Are I Done Gone Too Far Im Sorry Muahh! Get Your Self A Fresh Flesh Wound Or A New Scar Bullet Holes All On The Side Of Your New Car Load Up The AR Spray All Ok Yall? Its Real On This Side Phony Wherever They Are [Swizz Beatz] He's Phony She's Fake Thats The Type of People i Hate If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands Wait a Minute Whose Real Whose not? Shes Real But Hes Not If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands If Your Real and You Know it Clap Your Hands |
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0:59 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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3:28 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
C'mon now - repeated
(Verse 1) Got 'em up, yeah my Taliano, not many brothers is rollin in Diablos Hit the hard rock, the street is my work spot I'm lookin for females to cops (yeah) Few things can past me, I'm rollin up a five point O like pimps on ho, G And I'm sittin in third, I'm never on swerve, to the right I merge Now I'm patrollin and I'm lookin for a skirt in this thang I'm holding I still got game ain't a damn thing change I spot two Z's in the left lane Eye contact is on, I'm rollin down windows pointin at phones And she's poppin them buttons and yankin that blouse Girl let it all out! And that's what she did, baby ain't no kid 36 D's a make a man skid I'm puttin in work on the freeway pass Cause she put 'em on the glass (yeah) (Break) - w/ ad libs Put 'em on the glass .. Put 'em on the glass, girl Put 'em on the glass (Verse 2) Yes he's kinky, weenie and jinky Got crush rock on his pinkie He gets paid to stay laid My copycats fade, evade to unpaid who's stay played Girls when I'm on the freeway Cats jumpin in, givin me leeway And then drop them things on the dash This Porsche is quick so don't try to run fast At speed I got a need to see you breathe And proceed with the kinky deeds Indecent exposure can't hold ya, it's makin you bolder Cause baby is a Mix-A-Lot soldier But love singers on pause Everybody's beggin to get into your draws What's makin your kids frown? +Baby Got Back+ or (shake it up and down) You can follow me home cause this bone is on full blown Straight grown all night long I like my females nasty Never try to drive straight past me Just get in the left lane and show me your insane And fill up the window with thangs Puttin niggaz on skids, jump out and straight crash Cause she put 'em on the glass (Break) - w/ ad libs - (*scratched*) (Verse 3) How many times will you play this before your ban this, I heard Miss Gore can't stand this But I gotta fan this, lovin this scandalous rap Guess who I got layin on the canvas D-R R-I-C-H-A-R-D Hard from the freeway party Baby them things is workin Fillin up the passenger window with Jergens You hit the gas I'll hit mine too Baby can I get with you? Press the flesh 'til the glass gets dressed Obsessed with the ways you express yourself Some say I only rap about wealth But baby can I talk about your health? Lungs, lungs, motherfuckin lungs Get a brother oh so strung I'm lovin this window dressing The whole right lane is stressing Offend me, offend me, you can freak me if your friendly B double O B S, straight sittin in the window I'd rather kiss them than indo And if you see me on the freeway, baby don't pass Slow down and put 'em on the glass (Break) - w/ ad libs Put 'em on the glass Put 'em on the glass, girl Put 'em on the glass Now shake them titties .. Shake 'em .. Put 'em on the glass .. Put 'em on the glass |
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4:19 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:30 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:00 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:05 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
Run for the hills cause the mack is back
I'm hookin' up girls by fact If you're stacked You can rub a big mack I gotta gas So don't worry about scraps (no no) Five foot eleven with a seven foot game Gotta big mouth piece and I show no shame Monster kinky have no morals Monster loves to get oral (ummmm!) Got ten cars and the girls like that I was born and bred to be a mack Once your sign is played You gotta put a style in your game now a days In the sixty's girls was all hot LSD had 'em given up thigh The baby boom was on I drop No more woodstock but now you got Mix-A-Lot So put me in your CD changer Watch your girl cause Mix's a re-arranger Ooo, he's sexist Doo, he's sexist Keepin Rush Limbaugh restless Well I'm da' mack and that's monster Straight chase girls through the tail cause I wants to You can call it wack But you respect this black When it comes to game I'm a monster mack -Chorus: Cause the Mix-A-Lot game is tough Big Mack, Cause the Mix-A-Lot game is tough I'm a monster mack Lookin for sex Bih bih bih big big mack Strike the pose But she aint nasty as me Cause Mix-A-Lot is stuck on freaky Can't stop tappin that tweety Give it to the needy Nope, cause I'm too damn greedy Here I go walking through the mall Don't play ball But I got game for 'em all Focus on a victim, Focus on a victim Mr. Richard is hot so lets sick em And like a Tomahawk jumpin on a SCUD Girl you got to gimp my puhh The pick up king is back buddy Tryin' to give lessons to these thick ass ballers and understudies I'm not tryin' to call you no bitch girl Don't give a damn if your poor or rich girl And we can play a pool And I'm pokin' that 8-ball cool And the bootys I still like the bootys She got a little waist doin' squats just to keep me on my duty Giant size games what I droppin' Straight freaks with these thick ol' gluts is what I'm knockin' Now the right wing wanna test me If likin' sex is a crime then you arrest me But don't tell me who to sing to Jack Cause a third of your life is in the sack I'm a monster mack -Chorus- Drivin' my car by the bus stop Till I spot a young cutie straight suckin' down a soda pop Baby girl's winkin' Mix-A-Lot's thinkin' Hope this girl's feet ain't stankin' Here we go Swing by Franglors Get a little Soul Food Now you got a brother in the mood Damn gotta get her home with the quickness For this warriors a witness No need to put my girls on tilt Cause straight up game will get your milk The nasty dog is back With straight pimp game black Ain't no shame I'm a monster mack -Chorus |
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3:18 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:09 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994)
I'm peelin off domes with a baseball bat
Forty-four Magnum, choice of gat Mercury tip fillin up my clip I can shoot him in the dome or I can get him in the hip but boom, look at all the niggaz runnin out the room Just another soldier, causin doom No I don't bang but I like to wound... my enemy Who is the enemy, I'm glad you asked Any motherfucker standin in my path Got a Bentley Turbo, now you wanna jack but remember, Mack Daddy is strapped And when you're platinum, niggaz start dissin Record companies think you're missin But I'm back *clap clap (gunfire)* I'm back *clap clap (gunfire)* I'm back and I got a bigger gat *click BOOM* Now the positive rhymes is onnnn And I'm positively hittin that dome You might want mine but you can't get mine Rather put a hot nine right up in your behind I'm not the nigga that you wanna recoup And I don't wear a Giorgio suit but I'm down for my business so please don't step You heard about my lawfirm's rep, I check my bank Chorus: DJ Punisher and Sir Mix-a-Lot "Cash money, cash-cash.. money" |
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5:19 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996)
( INTRO: Chris Rock )
...All this ill shit This fuckin Sir Mix-A-Lot shit What the fuck is this shit? See the shit's video? 'PUT IT ON THE GLASS!' 'Put yo TITTIES on the glass' This is like a pick-up line: 'How you doin? I was wonderin, could you put yo BIG FUCKIN TITTIES on the glass?' 'No, I don't wanna go to a movie, could you PUT EM ON THE GLASS?!' 'Put your titties on the glass'?! What happened to 'How ya doin? Whatcha doin later? Let's catch a movie'? No, 'Put em on the glass' 'Put em on the fuckin glass' What the fuck is this shit? The girls got on bikinis - he got a fur coat on What the fuck is the weather like in Seattle? ( Sir Mix-A-Lot ) All my ex's, eat this one (You can have her) ( VERSE 1 ) I used to have this girl, let's say her name was Mona Mona, fine young sugar comin out of Arizona 5 ft. 6 straight thick with a switch And a set of them juicy-ass lips (Mmh...) Kinky, just like me She can take a straight gee And put him down for the count 1, 2, 3 Needless to say I was kickin it Cause I know when I'm the only one gettin it But - ooh, things change when you don't maintain The same game you got her with, mayn Flew back home, and I was slippin Cause as soon as I left, another brother starts spittin Throwin drag about wantin a family Tryin to front because he wanna be manly Tellin my girl how I'm playin the field Boy, you'se a jake for real Now a player I like, but you know I can't stand no snitch Tryin to front like he rich Done shot your credit, cause you bought you a new E 320, and you wanna be a hoe like me Now you done salted my game Told my girl I'm a player, and you bought her a ring You paid a lotta money just to grab her I'ma tell you like this, trick: you can have her (You can have her) ( VERSE 2 ) I gotta do what I gotta do Baby girl's through, so I need somethin new You can't keep a good mack down I get around cause I got a tight thing up in Sea-Town 5'9" with dimples Caramel skin, straight fine, hella tight, no pimples Thinkin my game was concrete But I gotta watch for them other entertainers and athletes Especially the ones who wanna settle down Cause they'll beg and drink out your shoes and get they nose brown Just the kinda man you wanted, ain't it, honey? A big buff dumb-ass fool with hella money Down to spend till his knees bend Then the athlete's broke and his girl's in the wind And my girl gets mad, cause I never spend time like I'm s'posed to Plus I'm a boaster Shaggin up too damn quick, now she's lookin for a sugar daddy Just to get a '96 Caddy A big truck she found You young scrub on the bench for the Cleveland Browns He never had nothin, thicker than a cheerleader Now he got juice, so he eats her And treats her to a big wad of cash Too weak, so she left his ass You can have her (You can have her) Just rollin by the Playboy Mansion... ( VERSE 3 ) I got me a, I got me a, I got me a, I got me a Young bunny, young bunny in La-La Land Wanna get freaky with the papa man I smack her to the front, I smack her to the back I smack it with the whiffle ball bat, remember that? One happy black man I be When my L.A. bunny wanna trip with me Her name is Teresa She was freakier than me, but I figured I could please her She had the long braids Chocolate sister, loved to cuff men like slaves Arrived at the house at last Seen two shades of lipstick on the same wine glass Provocative artwork around me Four pink slippers on the floor surround me One pair's for her, the other pair's for who? Plus she only lives in a one bedroom Well hm - it might be on Menage-a-trois, open la bouche, taste la bomb Teresa's roommate walks in 6 ft 2 with a wig and a stupid-ass grin (Oh my goodness!) (You can have her) You done brought a big-ass man up in the room? Girl, what's wrong with you? Honey, that is gay Yo partner, you can have her Cause I don't want none of y'all 3's Company, if you know what I'm sayin Yeah Put it on the danceflo' Bring it back |
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0:51 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:29 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996)
(Coro:)
Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (throwin up this dirty old for life, fool) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (oh a la rasa) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (playin old cuts, doin donuts fool) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo (verso 1:) I got more bass than a little bit Game don't quit, my clique got a gang of them chips And it don't stop, cause a brother went pop And i got a couple knots in my sock One dough, one glock And i got me a cutie, buckin this 1992 dually Will i come booty, who me I thought you knew me You come to the boulevard newly Take a look at this truck, got 'em sittin on stuck Drop down to the ground, with them big sounds Four twelves in the back, 'til the windshield cracks Like that, with a fat bass track And i love my horsey, try to ignore me Scratch my back and you'll force me to dump Dump, dump, dump, put 'em on stun And drive my horse into the sun (Coro:) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (rollin down the boulevard) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (on rizza, ta nizzay) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (eastside, essa) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo (westside, westside) (break - woman talking) Hey, what you say fool? Nah, let me explain somethin to you This is my vehicle, you know what i'm sayin? I roll when i wanna roll When i want cause i got my cabbage like that You know what i'm sayin? Keep player hatin and watch the ass drop car door slams and tires skid (verso 2:) I gotta get an impala, pina colada White cause the gold one's nada Get the coke white seats, fill 'em up with heat Six three with the bows on feet Peanut butter top to match the guts Droppin that butt, got 'em all sayin "what!" Yellow back with a profile, what's up now Gotta give me ten points on style And the paint ain't trippin, drippin Look at this dippin, never caught slippin or missin And in case you was doubtin my pimpin (what up fool) My kitten, got the pearl white scopes to match my paint coat Giddy up, here we go Back to the boulevard, rush with the horse to the test I'ma park this next to the best And flex like i'm poster, rollin this roaster Hoein this holster, closer Cause i'ma boaster, roaster, red light toaster No remorse when i buck this horse (female voice: let's take it from the east to the west homes) Buckin my horse, giddy up, westside Buckin my horse, giddy up, eastside Buckin my horse, giddy up, westside Buckin my horse, giddy up, eastside Buckin my horse, giddy up, westside Buckin my horse, giddy up, eastside Buckin my horse, giddy up, westside Buckin my horse, giddy up, eastside (verso 3:) Buckin this horse like a baller, black top slaughter Makin these eighteen's holler In a brand new horsie, call it my porschey Lookin hella fly and bossy Sittin at a red light waitin, porsche's shakin Talkin more mess than payton And i got it in first, gettin ready for the worst One point two turbo burst Let it ride like a black tech Bettin i'm gettin my sex while i'm passin up bets Grab my horse by the reins and tame it Watch where i aim it, so i don't flame it I can't explain the insane left lane Swing to the right, it's pain Pass these busters, lookin like lusters Sittin three deep in a dark blue duster Now i'm sittin on cruise tryna get my food Exit number 102 and then po-po spots me The guys still watch me, big man needs teriyaki I ain't trippin on vandals Cause my white gamballa has no door handles Gotta get met with force If you touch my ... horse (Coro:) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up (yeah) Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo, hey Buckin my horse, giddy up, hey yo |
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4:30 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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2:06 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:24 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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3:21 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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1:24 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:42 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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1:02 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:38 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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5:01 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996)
Ho, Ho, Ho
(I know I ain't hear somebody say nuthin about hoes up in here, sshhh, ooh lord) What's up Dallas, what's up (x2) Dallas jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up San Antone, what's up (x2) San Antonio jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Austin, what's up (x2) Austin jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Houston, what's up (x2) Houston jump on it, jump on it, jump on it (Ooh lord) Welcome to the 2 1 4 Big B, D Texas Let Mr. Sexes flex this Lexus And this where the Cowboys play They battle with my team from the bay Frisco Now I'm from the northwest But I likes my soul food So I'm calling up an old groove And I'm a brother with a gut So, hello Kema, can ya take us out to Papadeaux's? And don't forget about San Antone The last time I went thru I took three broads home And much love love to the brothers in Austin And the 5 1 2 I'm flossin in Lawston A state that's as big as hell And I spot two bad ass girls in a Tercel They said what's up? And I said whassup? (We're going to Houston) And I said giddy up, U-turn What's up Phoenix, what's up (x2) Phoenix jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Cali, what's up (x2) California jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Vegas, what's up (x2) Las Vegas jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Sea-town, what's up (x2) Seattle jump on it, jump on it, jump on it (Ooh lord) Welcome to the 6 0 2 It's a hundred and five in the shade And I'm sippin on a lemonade Phoenix Arizona puts the heat up on ya I should warn ya The girls as fine as California Speaking of Cali Check your mack daddy He gots game, and knocks dames from Redding to the Valley And I can pull'em on a TJ border I even knock Mr. G's daughter And come on up to the 7 0 2 Where it's legal to gamble, and hoing is too The kinda city I could run wit Las Vegas na vi dad, I love it Back to the 2 0 6 Double up my grits And Sea-town giving po po fits Chasing the skirts like a playa supposed ta 348 roasta HIT IT! (ho, ho, ho... ooh Lord) What's up Atlanta, what's up (x2) Atlanta jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Orlando, what's up (x2) Orlando jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Miami, what's up (x2) Miami jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Tampa, what's up (x2) Tampa jump on it, jump on it, jump on it Coming thru the 4 0 4 Olympic summer, Atlanta, so lets go Calling up my homeboy Daddy Ray ('Ey Ray, what's up with the girls in GA?) And Ray got the situation handled We gonna stack up six deep And ride to Orlando To the 4 0 7 Calling up Magic Mike, we rolls in about eleven The gut getta gotta good ol' nine The next dat I gotta mash to the 3 0 5 I get G'd like I wanna in Miami You undastand me, I put that on my grammie And swing on up to the 8 1 3 Around Tampa, I'm dialing up Stephanie She got me polished like chrome Sittin on a throne I'm wore out know, I'm going home (Ooh lord) What's up K.C., what's up (x2) Kansas City jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Cleveland, what's up What's up Cincinnati, what's up Columbus jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Little Rock, what's up (x2) Little Rock jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Denver, what's up (x2) Denver jump on it, jump on it, jump on it (Ooh lord) What's up Chicago, what's up (x2) Chicago jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Portland, what's up (x2) Portland jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up St. Louie, what's up What's up East Side, what's up St. Louis jump on it, jump on it, jump on it What's up Tacoma, what's up (x2) Tacoma jump on it, jump on it, jump on it |
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4:18 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:41 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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2:31 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:14 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996)
(Coro:)
You can lead yo horse to water But you cannot make him drink I'm just tryin to spit some game So you might wanna stop and think (2x) (verso 1:) Okay, 'lik's gon' come anew for '9-6 Lead yo ass to the aqua, but i can't make a brother rich You gotta go for self, and then help others Mama wasn't lyin when she put you up on game, brother All up in the house gettin loud and disrespectin 'lik steps in, regulatin and hoe-checkin All them makes wishes, ain't already tryin to sympathize Players stay paid all day, but yo ass stays broke and high Oh my, kids and stuff all over like some roller skates Still i keeps it on my pape and niggas be tryin to playa-hate But that'll get you rolled up sideways Whoever said crime pays never got 3 strikes in l.a. Makes you lonely, sayin, contributin to mines You could be hella fine, but ain't nobody spendin mines Mobbin with the crowbar with some common sense You can stay hella bent, i be at the water stackin presidents (Coro:) (verso 2:) One of these goddamn set-backs of havin your mail fat Is some of these lax-ass wanna-be macks, and you hoes in black They tracks sound booty, and they ain't doin they duty In the studio, and only if you knew me, though You'd see that i puts in work, and puts hurt On your flirts that wanna wear skirts and try to jerk But you'se in love with a fantasy, trick You wanna 'sit on yo ass, collect checks and shit' You was younger than me, so i schooled ya Gave you the tools to come up and get down like a ruler Took you to executive brunches, high-powered lunches Gave you dough in bunches So get your fried chicken and your watermelon Start the yellin, mix-a-lot is why you ain't sellin Old uncle tom nigga gettin mad But you know you never worked for the shit you had Start drinkin, bitch (Coro:) Hey yo, 'lik, fill in the blanks What's up with these would-be gold diggers chasin entertainer niggas Handin out sugar daddy contracts to big black macks in black pimp caddies I mean excuse me for pimpin, but ah... (verso 3:) Tryin to see a meal ticket like's they big goals Rollin fat hoops and rollin gizzy stashin big loads Jump your woman, but ain't handlin yo business County aid plea, check so small you can't buy bisquits Got you a family, still you all up in mines Fuckin off's the hot rule, but see, 'lik gon' fit to be fine She ain't right, got her shorties runnin the streets with retardation Bein barely sleep, puttin on that sneaky dick in her Boys will be boys, that's how the game goes Ask mix-a-lot, they all hoes, and this player knows Better bumrush school and get your g.e.d. Cause welfare, homey, been cuttin back since '83 Two carts ??? and still be tryin to front Use your diaper money to load up them philly blunts Get a 9 to 5, change your whole mindframe Cause doin without ain't what's happenin, put yourself up on game Kill or hustle, somethin, gotta drink the water, girl That's from a sister, 'broke' don't exist in malika's world (Coro:) |
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4:31 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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3:38 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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3:43 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Return Of The Bumpasaurus (1996) | |||||
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4:09 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:38 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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4:25 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:51 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003)
(Sir Mix-A-Lot - talking)
Oh!, y'all been tellin some lies 'bout your penile region (*laughing*) (Female voice: F**k me up here) (*mixed*) That's what I heard from your girl, boy (Break - Female voice) We like a great big Johnson - 4X (Verse 1) Big momma please don't give me drama 'bout my love hummer If you ain't pleased, then tell me what I need If you lie, I'll play the naive guy Tell me ten strong, you got a closer look I know I ain't ten long, but that's okay You call me Big Daddy anyway And make me feel good 'bout my medium wood She got her eyes closed, rockin me well Tryin hard to get a nut, while she callin me Denzel But oh well, get it Halle Berry, get it Halle Berry, get it Two can play the games in a fantasy thing And only five percent of men got nine and up But eighty-five percent say they can't fit a cup, now what up? Somebody gotta be lyin, cause I am Claimin bout twelve on the hit-me scale But the truth is the six to eight range, you hang Just like the average Joe Plain, fool (Chorus - Female voice) + (Sir Mix-A-Lot) Bring black, bring white (uh huh) Bring length (yeah), tonight (uh) If not, bye bye We like, we like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (Ladies, what you like?) We like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (Verse 2) Now every entertainer claims hung but not wanted Mister Being-less-than-a-female's-best But have you seen a John Holmes movie? Got the double digit wide with a pack of porno groupies! Well my girl did, she stayed glued to dude He swingin fourteen inches and the remote she clenches But she's my Misses but she's his tonight And did I tell you John Holmes was white? Uh oh, we can't let the urban legends die Cause I be Mandingo and he be the gringo It ain't supposed to go like this, it was goin well Eight was swell, but fourteen brings hell But I can't compete with this feat, so must I eat the ultimate burger, I clicked on a cursor Triple W dot Ginseng dot com Tryna drop bombs, lay it down and hit in like John (Chorus - Female voice) + (Sir Mix-A-Lot) Bring black, bring white (uh) Bring length, tonight (*laughing*) If not, bye bye We like, we like a great big Johnson (What they like?) We like a great big Johnson (Ha, what you like?) We like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (Well say that then) We like a great big Johnson (Verse 3) You can blame it on the Internet, its too much access To big studs lookin for quick love and hugs They used to only have magazines with a three inch punk in a centerfold His pee-pee's cold But oh no my ego shrunk, when they got hunks Big J Peg, beef strapped to his leg No strings attached to the ride Plus they only touch with they feminine side, so why try But I bought tools from the tools store I heard the revolutions per minute, can make up for dippin in it Ain't no shame in my game, you could make to claim You say your layin the pipe, but pay attention to your wife Lover man .. Come home from work and John Holmes be sittin up in your thing about fourteen inches deep And you standin in the doorway lookin at three and a half (*laughing*) (Chorus - Female voice) + (Sir Mix-A-Lot) Bring black, bring white (bring white?) Bring length (huh?), tonight (say what?) If not (yeah), bye bye We like, we like a great big Johnson (C'mon) We like a great big Johnson (C'mon) We like a great big Johnson (C'mon, chicks) We like a great big Johnson (C'mon, chicks) We like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (What you like?) We like a great big Johnson (Ladies, what you like?) We like a great big Johnson (C'mon) We like a great big Johnson |
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3:27 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:35 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:16 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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1:52 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:25 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:22 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:19 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:40 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:51 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003) | |||||
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3:09 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003)
How you like your game, baby?
You wanna sell hot? I make this game resonate baby, yeah resonate Chorus: C'mon c'mon I put the ball in balla I made it resonate I put the pop in these girls and made 'em shake I put the b in the game and kept it true No cock blockin' this game for you New star, big cars, some of this game with a big cigar Cashmeire, cat fat, six foot broads standin' on stacks I understand, no plan, you stole my banner, southern 'bama Sellin lies when you was dumb and broke You never had a topknot, joke! It was the shit you spoke No rhythm in your spittin' I don't need no bling things to make my game swing Your game is runnin' tight but your motor pings I make it resonate Chorus x2 You drive a nice truck, Escallade Gotta show 'em all you're paid But the truth is you're lackin' what you're mackin' if you're paper fed Your payins last to fuck 'em If you're broke then can you trust 'em Give her diamonds and a beeper but you can't keep her She gets the benefits Go on, girl, treat that man like a bitch! Takin' from the rich, Robin Hood Get it back to your crib Another rap star slaving to this game he claim he's saving Cut his legs when he's shaving cause he bitch made I make it resonate Chorus x2 I make it resonate Rap's first super-balla Yeah, before y'all could spell balla, I was ballin', fool Blew 15 large in the 80's, nickrally You work a max scheme, clean Bought her that Lexus, bought it in Texas Just like Dada bought you a mansion in Nevada Situation bleak, your girl got a new physique You got a baby comin', wife naggin, bought a Taurus station wagon Aha! Put em on the glass and made your ass a balla! Now you got a naggin' wifey and a toddler, ahah! Don't wanna be a playa no more? Mack with your mouth and match your dollas I swing a mean verb, big word, some if this game you've heard I gotta hear it, your appearance shakin' Daddy's lyrics I ain't an OG, I'm an OP, original player Papi gran-D, I signed your wife's booty, remember me?! Chorus til end |
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4:05 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Daddy's Home (2003)
It's nasty thug, I want to sit on his face.
Nasty girl forchema He's so nasty. Poppi grande oooo Fachorma poppi grande Fachorma poppi grande Ey ey ey ey Fachorma poppi grande Ey o meo Fachorma poppi grande Tambien grande Ball hall dirty dog, look at these balls put em on polls. Never get sprung by another mans song Come to my room, I want your poon need it soon. You sexy roo who whoo, my car got boo hoo hoom. It's my duty to move these boodies Insanes we bang bang I push this thing trough, they shoot out of these coops Your girlfrieds giving me drawers you can baud. Use a fake player sayers Use a tight ryme sayer. Fachorma poppi grande Fachorma poppi grande Fachorma poppi grande Rack em and stack em, the way I lack em, but don't you slap em. Pushing his wind through the popper stopper. Sang loops Daddy large is hard for brods got a big wad Poppi Grande Rack em and stack em, the way I lack em Hit it and put me to sleep Daddy ride I'm a go with the frisco freak show, big rack stack like that Go home Go home Get back when you hear that page Go home Cause you's engaged Big dadday large, look it up hard Some of those dance come medium hard Beggin you to make him a starter Audit you bought Groupies here's my order In the back of this caddy pulling this johnny mack bone. They call me poppi grande ooo |
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4:00 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:07 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Chief Boot Knocka (1994) | |||||
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4:18 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
What you pullin' me over fo' mistuh offi-suh?
I'll be askin' the questions Leroy. My name ain't Leroy, man. Heh, all right Jerome, outta the car. Man, why I gotta be Jerome man? Why can't I be Tommy or Philbert or something? Just put your hands on the hood Muhammed It's the man that you love to hate Coming outta Washington state Cops don't like my profile Cause Mixalot kicks much style So the man is on my trail He wanna take Mix to jail If he does, I'll make the bail Cause I know alot of rich females I'm shakin' 'em just like this Keepin' that Porsche in fifth King County cops don't quit Even when a young brothers legit So they follow me wherever I go I hear 'em on the radio With a scanner that I bought from the sto' Cause a brother like Mix gotta know I'm checkin' them cops with radar They don't believe I'm a rap star That my brain is up to par An I'm ready when they follow my car I know they wanna spray me with mace Cause my trunk keeps pumpin' much bass But they best get outta my face Cause one-times got no case, give it to me One-times got no case The police think I'm movin' them keys They trip cause I clock much D They pull a gat an' they yell out Freeze! I'm whippin' out my I.D. My gat sits under my seat The cops throw me out in the street They found my gun like thieves Officer Friendly has got a new beat So I show him my gun permit I told him I roll legit Give me a test to see if I'm drinkin' They claim my breath was stinkin' They had me walk on the line I walked backwards stopped on a dime My female just reclines Cause she knows I know the time I'm hip to the cop procedure They get ya everytime they see ya They stop ya, they cuff ya They roll ya an' they rough ya They ask what I do for a livin' Should this information be givin'? This is what keeps me driven Some cops want a brother in prison So I got me a few attorneys Just in case a cop wanna burn me They protect me from the state Cause one-time's got no case, break it on down One-times got no case A cop asks me What's my name, and don't lie And I'm askin' officer Why? Why ya wanna mess with a brother like Mix When you know I'm livin' legit? The cop said Don't get smart. I tear soul-brother apart I said Well take off your gun, if you wanna get done An' I'll show you that I ain't the one The cop rolled up his fist Puts the handcuffs on my wrists Then he threw a straight jab and he missed A female cop pulls up and she's pissed But this cop had K-9 A soul sister, yes she's fine I said Won't ya help a brother outta bind? But that badge was going to her mind So she stuck a billy club in my back She said Don't think because you're black That I won't beat you, crack, hit you with the gat Her partner starts to laugh Oooh, hit 'em again. Hit 'em again. So they took me on down to the jail P.L.B. came to pay my bail Then we called Goldstein and Claire Them's my lawyers Walkin' up the stairs To the courtroom dressed in suits 'Bout to give a couple cops the boot So the female cop takes the stand Took her oath with the wrong damn hand My lawyers ate her up like catfish The other cop pleads the fifth She lost her job I seen a few tears on her face Sorry baby, one-time's got no case |
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4:21 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
*SPOKEN* Mack Daddy Ain't you tired of that gameless mark smackin' you in your face baby? Mack Daddy You better roll with the big mack, the man with the game Mack Daddy Gotta big snake, all you gotta do is make it dance, you know what I'm sayin' Mack Daddy *RAP* I'm rollin' to another neighborhood Me 'n my boyz, up to no good Chasin' miniskirts 'n the ride is packed Rollin' to a mall called SeaTac Cruisin' 'n the cops don't like that 'Round the mall once 'n don't come back Four-door Rolls with the black exterior Turbo Bentley, white interior A Rolls Royce fulla big black men In the suburbs, messin' with citizens Walkin' in the mall, looka how I spit Sloppy dressed brothers make the females blitz Big long starters, black low tops Mack daddy hat got me lookin' like Pops But that's cool, cuz, I'm mackin' anyway 'N your females my prey 'N I'm callin' out skirts like Chuck D Sista we missed ya, get wit' me Comin', runnin, your boyfriends gunnin' The big boss is so cunnin' Some of my home boys hate me They get a microphone, then try to take me But you ain't slip, sayin' what's up Mix? Boy I'm hip to your tricks I'm the Mack Daddy Mack Daddy Yeah ain't no reason to bet ya 'Cause I'm the Mack Daddy Steadily mackin' Mack Daddy Kickin' in a buffed up Lamborgini If your females proper she gots to see me 'Cause I'm the king of the roll outs Mack Daddy is back still runnin' my mouth I see a freak on the SeaTac strip My Lamborgini's brakes get grip So I pull up on to The Spot I start frontin', 'cause I wanna get jocked Topped off the gas, whipped out my cash 'N one girls starts to laugh But I'm still smooth 'N my game is on, so I make my move Say, you in the white pants I'm a step close to ya, but I won't dance 'N what you laughin' at All the girls start pointin' at my hat 'N I'm a giggle wit' 'em, 'cause I just wanna get wit' 'em I don't hit 'em, I just wanna stick 'em So I pull baby girl to the side She said she likes my car I said take a ride So we flipped up the doors on the Contach But gettin' in a Lamborgini is hard So I grabbed baby girl by the rear end I thought she might need help gettin' in So I clos' the do' 'N now you kno' Mack Daddy is about to sco' The girl said, baby you can have me So I stopped at the tail 'Cause I'm the Mack Daddy Mack Daddy All you all gameless marks know Mack Daddy I'm the Mack Daddy Mack Daddy Yew I don't smoke no weed, but I like to G I don't mean O.G., I mean sex baby 'Cause a brother like me don't date I sling records 'n tapes The Rhyme Cartel with the Def American Gettin' brothers sprung like Farrakhan 'N I'm stuffin' my ladies pumps In the backa my Benz I humps I'm nasty 'n proud To hell with cool, I'm G'in' 'em loud Other people at the hotel gets no rest 'Cause Mixalots bumpin' them headrests She got booty for days Other brothers is pullin' up But she ain't phased 'Cause I laid my game like a concrete slab She's the kinda skirt a mack gotta have Rollin', showin' her off 'N some fool tried to call me soft He's in a one nine seven two skin head caddy A old superfly mack daddy So my girl stepped out 'n he tried to mack But she ain't havin' that You see your game is weak, G My girl, I ain't slappin', I'm mackin' 'N rappin' Mack Daddy I'm the Mack Daddy Mack Daddy I'm the Mack Daddy Mack Daddy Come over here and get some of this snake Mack D....
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4:24 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
I like big
butts and I cannot lie You other brothers can't deny When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist And a round thing in your face You get sprung Wanna pull up tuff Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed Deep in the jeans she's wearing I'm hooked and I can't stop staring Oh baby I wanna get witcha And take your pictcha My homeboys tried ta warn me But that butt you got me Ooh rump of smooth skin You say you wanna get in my benz Well use me use me cuz you aint that average groupy I see her dancin' The hell with romancin' She's Sweat wet got it goin like a turbo vette I'm tired of magazines Saying flat butts are the thing Take the average black man and ask him that She gotta pack much back So Fellas yeah Fellas yeah Has your girlfriend got the butt Tell em shake it shake it shake it shake it shake that healthy butt Baby got back face with the Oakland booty Baby got back face with the oakland booty LA face with the oakland booty I like'em round and big And when I'm throwin a gig I just can't help myself I'm actin like an animal Now here's my scandal I wanna get you home And ugh double up ugh ugh I ain't talkin' bout Playboy 'Cause silicone parts are made for toys I want 'em real thick and juicy So find that juicy double Mix a Lot's in trouble Beggin' for a piece that bubble So I'm lookin' at rock videos Watchin' these bimbos walkin' like hoes You can have them bimbos I'll keep my women like Flo Jo A word to the thick soul sistas I wanna get with ya I won't cuss or hit ya But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna Til the break of dawn Baby got it goin' on A lot of simps won't like this song 'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it And I'd rather stay and play 'Cause I'm long and I'm strong And I'm down to get the friction on So ladies Yeah Ladies Yeah If you wanna role in my Mercedes Then turn around Stick it out Even white boys got to shout Baby got back Baby got back Yeah baby when it comes to females Cosmo ain't got nothin' do with my selection 36 24 36 Ha ha only if she's 5'3 So your girlfriend rolls a Honda playin' workout tapes by Fonda But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda My anaconda don't want none Unless you've got buns hon You can do side bends or sit ups But please don't lose that butt Some brothers wanna play that a hard role And tell you that the butt ain't go So they toss it and leave it And I pull up quick to retrieve it So Cosmo says you're fat Well I ain't down with that 'Cause your waste is small and your curves are kickin' And I'm thinkin' bout stickin' To the beanpole dames in the magazines You ain't it Miss Thing Give me a sistar I can't resist her Red beans and rice didn't miss her Some knucklehead tried to dis 'Cause his girls are on my list He had game but he chose to hit 'em And I pull up quick to get wit 'em So ladies if the butt is round And you want a triple X throw down Dial 1 900 MIXALOT And kick them nasty thoughts Baby got back Baby got back Little in the middle but she got much back Little in the middle but she got much back Little in the middle but she got much back Little in the middle but she got much back |
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4:30 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
Hey, homeys!Who me?Yeah, that's right. You the fly hustler.Ya'll still sellin' that fake Louie, huh?Hey! Don't be turnin' the highside up in here. You don't even got thedope...Oh, baby, I don't need the highside, just giv F00006068
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5:33 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002) | |||||
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4:19 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
{Your silence is my trade}
Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} I'm givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Here we go! Oh no, Another flow show from the young black dynamo Lockin' up jaws, MCs pause - No lyrical flaws Hush, when the boss is talkin' Lay down gats and get your weak knees walkin' You ain't allowed to speak 'cause you've reached your peak The elite don't get with the weak Shut up, 'cause I'm burnin' this cut up Boy, don't try to run up 'Cause I chop up crops A weak hip-hop boy tried to jock my spot and he flopped He went down to the concrete ground I'm a hound when I get down And I'm back, the mack with a lyrical knack To pack sacks and never pay tax And when I leave they diss me Knowin' they can never get with me But he who laughs last gets the most cash And lives the blast past of rap trash Gone! Left ya, son Gimme a call when you're done Your silence is my trade, shut up! {Your silence is my trade} 2x: Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Run, run, run, your time is done, son Move out for the well-hung young one And I'm rackin' up stacks of greenbacks - Dead presidents, black! Peace to my fans and I love ya And I got yo' cover 'Cause I'm back to please And cool off the hot MCs 'Cause they're runnin' around like ants, tryin' to grab their pants That shit don't make you dance! What's this beat doin'? Leavin' your posse ruined Stuck my fist in his mouth Caught him on a whole shout No pity on the lyrically weak Face defeat, retreat, but don't speak 'Cause I ain't through, fool And you ain't true to the Mix rules! You try to flow so you go for what you know But yo, bro, you ain't the flow pro (Ohh!) I can't go slow Gotta grow 'cause I wanna get mo' dough Full blown, bad to the bone And known to get it on with a microphone, homes Leave my throne alone I've been to the low zone Your silence is my trade, shut up! {Your silence is my trade} 2x: Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade} Come on, Punish! Punish! Your host on the coast is known to boast And roast most that choose to get close Put 'em in a lyrical knot My spot: the #1 slot But I gotta have beats When I lyrically de-feat the weak that try to compete Get 'em up, if you wanna go head-up What up? Do as I instruct, black 'Cause my gat is jack-backed And lookin' at your baseball hat I rolled over that mess you stole And took control, and then broke the mold! Now here I stand, boss man The NorthWest tip is where I am And I'm runnin' this work like dope Shippin' it in planes, trains and boats Up the charts I go Steppin' on toes and throwin' low bolos My group is large, and hard No need for a bodyguard We flex, rippin' off MCs' necks Run 'em into Critical's pecs Your silence is my trade, shut up! 2x: Lockjaw! {Your silence is my trade} Givin' MCs lockjaw! {Your silence is my trade} Come on, Punish! Punish 'em! Punish! Punish 'em! Lockjaw! Givin' MCs lockjaw! Lockjaw! Givin' MCs lockjaw! Lockjaw! Shhh |
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4:16 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
{Boss}
{Boss} We have such sights to show you This isn't for your eyes... AaaAAAA, the boss is back! {Boss} The boss is back! {Boss} {Boss} So I took a one-year hiatus Ain't nobody heard my latest You thought Mix-a-Lot was through But I'm back; this boot's on you What happened to all the old homies? When the money gets funny it's lonely My ex turned into a slut Down at the Hollywood, slangin' that butt Cheap perfume and a mini-skirt Girl, what's your line of work? Now that I'm rollin', you wanna roll with me But have you been to the clinic lately? Yesterday you had six condoms, see Today you got three Tossed you out like a paper sack This brother ain't Sprung On The Cat What about all the old homies? I got paid so they call me phony But I refuse to lay it low, When a brother like you tells me I can't flow? So here we go, bro, the leader of the Flow Show Let you know, I roll and get mo' I yank the bank and I ain't been ganked Cause my back you're trying to shank, but no thanks! My face shows pain and strain as I stand in the rain With this fame, you go insane The game I run is not fun to some, And now I love no one! The boss is back! {Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!} I'm back! Your boss is back! {Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!} {Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!} Tommy wants revenge But I want your oxygen When the game got thick you ran Now in my face you stand Beggin' for a few hun? Son, your fun meets my gun! Now you scream you're true black Boy, you need to chill with that! Cause I'm an e-qual op-por-tu-ni-ty de-stroyer My gat's my lawyer Last week you's a stick-up kid And this week you're in show biz Standin' on stage, another black wanna-be Wanna get paid, so you're as balck as you gotta be Throw up a peace sign, fakin' the rhymes Run out of lyrics, scratch in a Malcom X line Hypocrite, your hits break the bits The boss of brain lays pain when I spit Criticized, cause I'm takin' the dares And now you're tryin' to tell another brother what to wear? Come off that tip, you know how it goes Another brother gets shot and punks blame it on gold Gold ropes? Naw, that ain't your problem The job of a rapper is to find em and solve em Now you're crying bout what a brother owns King died so you could buy your throne I ain't got time to take steps in reverse You or the KKK, who's worse? You told me to stay low in my ghetto And so did the Klan, so wake up, bro Why do you think brothers is sellin' dope, fool? America, boy, the bankroll rules! Play that hard role and say you ain't with that And everything you're cryin' bout money on your contract Talked about me bad, it's time for the payback, black, The boss is back! {Boss} I'm back. I don't know the meaning of trust I gotta live so I do what I must Some girls'll cross you when you're soft That's why I'm my own damn boss They'll run you down with stress If you're spring on the butt and chest I'd rather be sprung on the ducat And put another damn freak in my bucket I deal with women, not girls Cause them young ones'll shake your world I'm tellin' it like it is Cause a brother like Mix ain't losin' his I got about two or three clowns That try to kick me when I'm down But when I come up, they all play dumb All of a sudden, it's we, not one I zip up lips when I spit these hits I'm equipped to make misfits quit Young bucks should all duck cause jaws are gettin' struck The luck gets chuched, so wussup! I ram and cram my jams in the mouth of a man I'm kickin' quicker than Van Damme Face the facts, two platinums stack Step off, fool, or get cracked! The boss is back! {Who's the boss?} I'm back! {Who's the boss?} The boss is back! {Who's the boss?} {Who's the} {Boss} |
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5:09 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
I'm your Testarosa. First gear
Watch me go, keep 'em in fear Rumble, young man rumble Brother won't fumble, muthafukas just crumble Gaskets crank, rappers get spank Stripes get yank, a superior rank Won't stop the jock in some American car use a lyrical radar But I'm rolling, the cartel's tolling For the D's keep folding Most Cadillac rappers get look and disturb By the jet black blur Me, the Testarosa running like it suppose ta Don't try to get closer Cause you might get lost in the dual exhaust Don't ever try to fuck wit' a boss High octane there ain't no ping When I swing on a lyrical speed king And that's just first gear, listen for the upshift Who can get wit' this I'm your testarosa Second gear, look it here queer I'm in here, hitting like spears The rhyme cartel slings legalized dope Some cope, others get (gunshot noises) Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless 12 cylinders listen to the horses It accelerates smooth Move or else get move Run for cover my brother, suckers are getting smothered I ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutter My rep is kept, muthafukas must step The best get swept and let out to rest Huuuu, look at that air intake Second gear, passing fakes Revolution per lyric get higher How can I chill when my rhyme's on fire As I approach the end of my tach My lyrical horse power blows to the max Red line is reached to the peak of my speech And I told ya, I'm your Testarosa Testarosa Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em up Keep 'em all down on these young bucks Let 'em know big boss is just a bit quicker Get the picture Ba |
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5:03 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
I'm rollin' in a Nine-Oh van. California, that's my plan Got memories Mix-A-Lot left in limbo, first stop Sacremento Here we go, hit a club called Bentleys Want a skirt to git wit' me, hit me There's a girl with a back like a Cadillac I walked up and got pushed back Her boyfriend tell her I'm a play-a Dropped salt on a dope rhyme say-a My reputation offends this man Next day hit Williamland Park Creepin' like a shark Spot a bad freak and I swoop like a hawk "What up?", "Howya like to roll wit' a champ?" "Please! All ya'll rappers is tramps" My reputation is stoppin' my mission Every freak in Sac is dissin' Back on the four lane freeway Next stop, the two-one-three, L.A. The two-one-three is rough But the Mixalot game is tough Spot a young girl and I start that gamin' Baby girl asks what set am I claimin' "Just cuz I rap, I gotta be in gang?" It ain't a black thang, it's a rap thang Censorship is sweepin' the nation Messin' up a rap stars reputation A rappers reputation, that's what I got So I'm finished with the two-one-three I knock, baby, but it's time to leave Two days on the hard rock, boys is cruisin' Interstate Ten, straight to Houston They tell me 'bout the girls in the fifth ward You know the boys must score So we hit a fly club called Guchies Lookin' for the skirts with the largest booties Girlies in the club wasn't takin' no shorts Showin' no remorse For a brother like Mix, lookin' for the smooth Didn't need a Houston skirt to get with me But the nights still young And the hunk ain't done So we stepped to the van |
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4:30 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
Brothers, we've messed over our sisters for years
(years and years) I said for years But now we're being messed over I said now we're being messed over You done fell in love with the cat You know what I'm talking about "The Cat" It'll get ya *RAP* Meow, meow, the cat will get ya If you let it get wit' ya Some brothers wanna spend alotta money Just to get a little honey But the honey gets runny when the money's funny 'Cause I'm hipped an' a brother like Mix don't slip 'Cause them girls will put that cat right on ya And don't say I didn't warn ya Go down to the beach See the girls in bikini's Wonder why you don't see me, brothers (Yeah) Should I preach (Preach, preach) Awreit, back to the beach A O.G. from the hood Went down to the beach but his game was weak Met a sweet thing named Yolanda She had the go mo-mo's on her brand new Honda So my boy stepped up with a gangsta pitch Better come on an' get wit' dis A forty-dog in his hand and he's saggin' But pretty soon the cat's goan tag him Later that night, Yolanda got busy in the back Of his big black Cadillac The next day, the O.G. wasn't playin' no ball 'Cause he took her to the mall Buyin' everything from skirts to boots Oh, speakin' a boots, yeah he knocked 'er boots But in the end another fool got jack 'Cause he was sprung on the cat Sprung on the cat, check it out There's a brother named Dave in a Corvette Had a job at the U.P.S. I ain't dissin' 'cause U.P.S. pays money But Dave wants to kick it with the honeys, huh He shoulda got 'em a girl 'n' settle down But Dave wants to get around Put the top down on the 'vette Hit the south side of Seattle Lookin' for sex Got a full pack of Seagrams under the seat And boom, there it is...three freaks Thick, walkin' with a natural switch And Dave starts getting that itch, huh You know a 'vettes only got two seats But Dave wasn't listening to me All three of them jumped in the car Hit Red Lobster and went straight to the bar But them drinks ain't cheap out there son Five dollars for one of them daiquiris And Dave was treatin' And the girls was sure 'nuff eatin' Two hundred dollars worth of fish And Dave wants to make a little wish A little something that he'd seen in a porno movie Play BBD and said do me At Daves house they left him in a cold sweat He gave 'em the keys to the 'vette Ooh, that's the wrong move, black You must be sprung on the cat Sprung on the cat Sprung on the cat Old girl named Joyce tried to put that cat on me two weeks ago You mean she DID put that cat on you, you're talkin' to Attitude, be straight with me man I'm cruisin incognito 850i with the smoked out windows An' I'm thinkin' I'm raw When it comes to girls I done seen it all Then along came a girl named Joyce She had a black Corniche Rolls Royce At the stop sign she did something with her tongue Could Mix be sprung? Her cat was calling me And I started rolling slowly Pulled up to the bumper 'Cause I wants to thump her So she pulls up into Texaco And I roll up slow and jump in the Rolls Now I'm checkin' out the body This hotty gotta body 'n' I wanna get naughty Followed her to the motel Yes, motel, I'm too cheap for a hotel Room deuce deuce deuce and it's time to get loose I dipped in the juice So what's up with the Rolls Checked the registration And the Rolls was stole Baby girl tried to break with my keys and gat But I ain't sprung on the cat Don't pet the cat, if you just met the cat If you're sprung on the cat You might as well eat the cat Sprung on the cat Sprung on the cat Maharaji over there all quiet I think Maharaji be eatin' the cat How 'bout Attitude Adjuster Attitude, you eatin' the cat or what? I think it's Critical Mass Critical Mass be suckin' on that cat Yo, P.L.B. I know you eatin' somethin' ME? What you snackin' on?? |
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4:56 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
I've been jacked by the racist scum, and here I come
Klan, run - cause revenge is fun! And I'm that one to make you tapdance with a shotgun On Donahue they said they had weapons Just to teach black people one lesson but I ain't goin to your school of fools so come here, and look at my tools! You can meet and greet the Glock 19 in your nostrils I'll splatter your dreams Plans to overthrow are left in limbo cause one loco bro chose to dispose of you and your skinhead crew I ain't a house nigga with a twenty-two I dump a hollow-point slug in your windpipe Try to breathe {*choking*} believe the hype Cause this ain't the jungle fool and I don't throw SPEARS, and I ain't leavin here! A Nazi and you ain't never SEEN Germany but you was lookin for a enemy So you found a young brother with cash crashed my glass, snatched my whole stash Boy I'ma getcha back, like it ain't no thang Show you what I learned from the gangs Stack em up deep in a six-nine Deuce Long range scopes for the whole damn group Hangin outside a club called Moonshine Waitin for the right time.. There he is, walkin in the Levi's blue cut The Wicked One dropped two shots in his butt I can't solve racism with a gat but this is where my head's at - get em with a jack back! "You ask me the niggers around here been treated awful bad for a long time.." [The Wicked One] I've been sayin this, I gotta fix em I wanna fix em with a crucifixion Nail em to a cross and burn em BURN EM BURN EM BURN EM! It's been said that this would happen Skanless skinheads jackin All up in the crib insult for takin my force I had to break North The leader had a spraypaint can and on my wall wrote, 'Death to the black man' Burned a cross in front of the hideout Hopin they could get my race to die out I'ma cause em PAIN, physical and mental I speak slowly - through the temple The Wicked One is talkin trouble Blastin skulls into pieces of puzzle Damage em so bad, they can't stop me Not enough body left to get an autopsy Skinheads, stakin em out Bloodshed, takin em out Caught one of em, Mix said, "Go ahead" Thirty-eight, STRAIGHT to his forehead I hit em hard and it hit the spot I punish and plot with Mix-a-Lot Now where's the leader at? Gotta get him back Gotta get the gat, gotta get the axe Call it a revengeful murderous pact.. call it the jack back! "Some things are worth killing for" [Sir Mix-a-Lot] They burned a cross in my yard, caught a brother off guard but I can't cry, cause I'm HARD! They jacked another black, but this black wants payback I rack up killin stats! Now I'm on the hunt with a 12-gauge pump Massive hardware's in my trunk Creepin low.. and slow There's one - roll down the window Whassup, FOOL?!! ("Noooooooooo!!") *buck buck buck* It ain't done til the punk stops breathin; watch Kunta Kinte get even! It goes like that when a brother stays strapped Couldn't get a job so I learned to rap Livin kinda large and the skinheads hate me Run up in my house and they tried to take me Now I got the metal to his dome A Desert Eagle, dipped in chrome I got a black stocking cap yanked over my face Anger is takin rationality's place Hitler's in the house and I'm takin him out He shouts but the barrel's in his mouth Before I shoot, he wants to know if I'm white or black I yank my mask - this has been a jack back! "These boys were trained activists.." [The Wicked One] I'm not a slave but the Ku Klux Klan and the Aryan Nation say I am! What's behind the skinheads out to getcha? The reincarnation of Hitler Now I got a murderous attitude I'm in a put em in a casket mood! Remember the days of slavery? They hung many black men from a tree We fought to be free real hard and the black man's freedom must not be scarred! Callin me an African Sambo but after this, "American Psycho" And I'll smoke any skinhead racist with the black glock that's in my fist And the morgue'll be packed in body stacks Memories due to the jack back Caught the leader of the skinhead clan You know the one with the spraypaint can Drilled him with a crowbar {*gargling*} DIE! In the left ear, out the right eye Then I took a knife to his chest Carved a wicked message in a bloody mess It was a warning for the rest of his pack "This nigga got him with a jackback!" |
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4:44 |
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from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002)
WHAT'S WRONG, SWEETHEART?
DON'T YOU WANT ME? YOU PAID FOR ME. KNEEL TO ME. *rhythmic sniffing* SMOKE ME. BREATHE ME. INHALE ... HA HA HA HA HA HA, I'M YOUR NEW GOD. (Sir Mix-a-Lot) She's only 16, she looks lost Bought crack from the dopeman, and got tossed Livin on the streets, smoked out Perfect individual for me to bust out You can sniff me, or you can puff me But the girl shoulda known, you can't trust me She's only 98 pounds and lonely She calls to her God for help, and that's me COCAINE, go ahead n' use me, heh heh Momma won't know you're a junkie Just put me in your pipe, light and SUCK *deep inhale* Cluck cluck cluck! And while you're high, grab a 12 gauge Jump back on the streets, in a crack rage The only way out is the sucicide route Put the gauge at your dome and TAKE IT OUT Now I'm on the 6 o'clock news All my movies get the rave reviews 60 Minutes had a special on me The god called Crack is killin your society Colombia is where I get picked I can kill with a 90-10 split I work through the week, my pleasure is pain And I'm your new God You can call me Cocaine Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Cocaine Heh heh heh Go ahead n' smoke me (Sir Mix-a-Lot) Brothers throwin up a set to protect me I'm worth a lot so money so respect me Doin damage on the boulevard, just like that *gunfire* Shoot 'em over crack Dope dealers would kill for me Cause if ya sell me, I help ya live lovely You want a Porsche? Move a few ki's Just remember that your God is me The task force bum rushed one of my employees A big score, 23 ki's Now ya see another dopeman sink And one young cop on the brink The cop's thinkin bout pinchin And alimony checks to his wife for the rent and Kids, so the profit is slow And he wants to make his bankroll grow 23 ki's just sittin in the back seat I can make the best man weak So the cop hits the streets to sell a little pain Now the cop has a God You can call me Cocaine Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Cocaine Smoke this Smoke it Smoke it (Sir Mix-a-Lot) The only way I can be stopped is with intelligence And you don't get it, so that's irrelevant So you die, or else go to jail And I'm happy as hell I tried to get a young kid but he just said no Because of some sports hero So I entered the hero's house in the form of a line And let him snort one time Now he'd dead, cause my dose was pure Got him too quick for the cure So the headlines read, "Dope Made Another Hit" *sniff* Dead on the first sniff Now the kid is lookin for another hero I let him know the other fool was a zero He hits the streets, lookin for a remedy They introduce him to me I don't need another junky, just a flunky Besides, the little punk was spunky So I put him in a fresh pair o' Dickies Give him a beeper, and let him terrorize the city Put him in a gang, teach him to slang Another young punk deep in the game He'll be lucky if he lives til' 18 And I'm his new God You can call me Cocaine Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Cocaine Go ahead n' use me Smoke me Hm hm hm hm hm hm |
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4:05 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002) | |||||
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4:21 |
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from Jackass/ The Movie (2004)
Oh my god Becky, look at her butt It is so big She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends Who understands those rap guys They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute I mean her butt It's just so big I can't believe it's so round It's just out there I mean, it's gross Look, she's just so black I like big butts and I can not lie You other brothers can't deny That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist And a round thing in your face You get sprung Wanna pull up front Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed Deep in the jeans she's wearing I'm hooked and I can't stop staring Oh, baby I wanna get with ya And take your picture My homeboys tried to warn me But with that butt you got Make Me so horney Ooh, all of that smooth skin You say you wanna get in my benz Well use me use me cuz you aint that average groupy I've seen them dancin' The hell with romancin' Sweat, sweat, got it goin like a turbo vette I'm tired of magazines Saying flat butts are the thing Take the average black man and ask him that She gotta pack much back Fellas (yeah) Fellas(yeah) Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah) Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt Baby got back (LA face with Oakland booty) I like'em round and big And when I'm throwin a gig I just can't help myself I'm actin like an animal Now here's my scandal I wanna get you home And -, double up -I aint talkin bout playboy Cuz silicone parts were made for toys I wannem real thick and juicy So find that juicy double Mixalot's in trouble Beggin for a piece of that bubble So I'm lookin' at rock videos Watchin' these bimbos walkin like hoes You can have them bimbos I'll keep my women like Flo Jo A word to the thick soul sistas I wanna get with ya I won't cus or hit ya But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna -Til the break of dawn I got it goin on Alot of pimps won't like this song Cuz them punks lie to hit it and quit it But I'd rather stay and play Cuz I'm long and I'm strong And I'm down to get the friction on So ladies (yeah), Ladies (yeah) If you wanna roll in my Mercedes (yeah) Then turn around Stick it out Even white boys got to shout Baby got back (LA face with the Oakland booty) Yeah baby When it comes to females Cosmo and got nothin to do with my selection 36-24-36 Only if she's 5'3" So your girlfriend throws a Honda Playin workout tapes by Fonda But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hun You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don't lose that butt Some brothers wanna play that hard role And tell you that the butt ain't gold So they toss it and leave it And I pull up quick to retrieve it So cosmo says you're fat Well I ain't down with that Cuz your waste is small and your curves are kickin And I'm thinkin bout stickin To the beanpole dames in the magazines You aint it miss thing Give me a sista I can't resist her Red beans and rice didn't miss her Some knucklehead tried to dis Cuz his girls were on my list He had game but he chose to hit 'em And pulled up quick to get with 'em So ladies if the butt is round And you wanna triple X throw down Dial 1-900-MIXALOT and kick them nasty thoughts Baby got back Baby got back - |
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4:40 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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4:37 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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5:01 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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3:27 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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5:13 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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5:13 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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5:18 |
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| from Sir Mix-A-Lot - Till Da Sun Comes Up (2004) | |||||
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| from Judgment Night (킬러 나이트) [ost] (1992) | |||||
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| from Trespass (Music From The Motion Picture) by 트레스패스 [single, ost] (1992) | |||||
Trackback from :: acoustic mind of summerz :: 2006-05-18 15:06:44
Subject : Dave Chapelle, Sir Mix-A-Lot 그리고 나몰라 패밀리
