Sir Mix-A-Lot - Mack Daddy (2002) by Sir Mix-A-Lot (보컬) on maniadb.com

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

*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....

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

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

[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!

{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

{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}

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

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

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??

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!"

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