Sir Mix-A-Lot Buckin’ My Horse

[Woman speaking Spanish: w/ ad libs]

[Chorus]

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

[Verse 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 Goolie

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 horse, he try to ignore me

Scratch my back and you’ll force me to dump

Dump, dump, dump, put ’em on stunt

And drive my horse into the sun

[Chorus]

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]

[Verse 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)

[Break]

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

[Verse 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

Eggs and number 102 and then popo spots me

The guys still watch me, big man needs teriyaki

I ain’t trippin on vandals

Cause my white Gambala has no door handles

Gotta get met with force

If you touch my … horse

[Chorus]

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

[harmonizing with the beat until fade]

Sir Mix-A-Lot The Jack Back

[first twenty seconds are some movie]

“In this country a man’s home is his castle..”

[Sir Mix-a-Lot]

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!”

Sir Mix-A-Lot Bark Like You Want It

[1:]

(Woof!) Bark like you want it

(Woof!) Bark like you want it baby

[x4]

Big man is back, oh no, it’s a brand new flow

Lettin you jakes and females know

Ain’t a damn thing changed and I still got dough

Still gettin watched by po-po

You know what a flow like, never grab a ol’ mic

Never been down wit the slow life

Baby I’m a low life lookin for the right type

To get it goin on for the whole night

King of the backside, look at my rep

One of these West Coast veterans

Known to lay bone and make miniskirts moan

Young hotty got me sittin like stone {mmmm}

So I’m at the Magic City

So many freaks in one spot; I’m dizzy

I’m a playa so you know I wanna play

It ain’t nuthin like the city Black-lanta GA!

Now I start lookin through the mist

Swangin my game like this

Wassup wit the table poppin

Fine, 5’9″, and I’m jockin

But the girl won’t dance

And I pinch me a 10, bout to wet my pants

She got body fo days, but the girl won’t flaunt it

(You betta bark like you want it!)

[1]

[2:]

(Woof!) Bark like (we want it!)

(Woof!) Bark like you want it baby

[x4]

Bow wow, bow wow, gimme my dog chow

Put me on a leash or else I’m gonna have to snap now

Humpin yo leg, this doggy don’t beg

Got a tight rubber cap on my HEAD

So check this game when I’m comin through the hood

Swingin round blocks but I don’t sell goods

Mad brothas mean mug cause they wish they would

Get a fine thang like I could

You bought a 6-4 wit the 3-wheel mo’

Got no females in ya passenger door

You wanna playa hate cause you just don’t know

Bout the fast track makin yo hoe go

(Damn baby, why don’t you let me ride wit ‘chu?) Here I go again

Done took yo girl cause I don’t like men

Got to the crib, romance don’t phase me

Pulled to the house playin (Freak me baby)

Video check 1-2 1-2

Me and baby girl’s bout to get loose

And just when I thought I could palm it …

(You betta drop to yo knees and bark like you want it!)

(Woof! We want it!)

Meow, come and get it baby

[x4]

[1 & 2]

Sir Mix-A-Lot Freak Momma

The Mack is back, sweepin up smack packs

Still slangin that game on a rock track

Been in this bank and it don’t stop

No, here we go again settin up shop

Yep, lookin for a thang with the nice hips

Mmm, better have a set of them big lips [slurp]

When it comes to sex I want a freak

no leash but the baby got back teeth

It’s on partner, get it on tape son

Here I come with another one

I wanna put you in the Mud, honey

Spittin out of them guts like it ain’t funny

Yep yep yep Peter Piper couldn’t pimp

Call Mix if you wanna peep game simp

Freak daddy wanna get nasty

Call freak momma fast G….

Freak momma! [x3]

Slow this hoe down y’all

Bring it back

Verse two, the mackin ain’t never through

Old nasty rapper wanna get wit you

You can dance on the table and play that stripper role

and make love on the console

She ain’t nothin nice

Undercover vice done picked her up twice

She ain’t no hoe though, take your No-Doz

She’ll put you on the floor and then ‘Oh no’

Wine wine wine sexy dancer

No need to romance ya

I just wanna tap that bird

so heed the word you just heard

We fuss and cuss and kick up much dust

but you know rap stars, you can trust us

Ain’t no sense in throwin no drag or drama

Come on baby gimme that freak momma…..

Haha

Freak momma! [x3]

Mister Richard wants to get ya

Take a few nasty pictures

And then ya flip ya, kiss ya cos he doesn’t need ya

Baby I just wanna get wit ya

Lovin these type of lyrics

so baby I was raised on crack so I gotta let ya hear it

I can’t help myself I love sexy and controversy

Invasion of the rump snatcher

Got much ass so you know I’ll catch ya

So don’t try to break cos I come off straight

and other rappers try to come off ‘kay

And their minds is stuck on me and I’m stuck on you

I ain’t thinkin about a man when I come through

We can peel out on these Yokahama’s

Just me and my freak momma….. YUP!

Freak momma!

Freak momma!

See if I can do some of that Mudhoney dope

RAH HAH HAH

Freak momma! (Yo)

Just lost my street credibility y’all, hahaha

I’m gonna freak you

This song has been banned by the F.C.C

Sir Mix-A-Lot F The BS

[Intro: talking]

Like it was before, as usual

Somethin different, the boy never sounds the same

[Verse 1]

Body by Nautilus and you ain’t even with this

I’m the man, all the homeboys wanna dis

Crushin, killin, never beat stealin

But I’m hell when it comes to rhyme dealin

Death to competitors, long live Mix-A-Lot

You understand motherfucker I’ma hard rock

Beat ’em up and pick ’em up and make ’em miss the stick up

But my gat close range, take his wallet, kick him in his cup

Drop the games, cause they really ain’t necessary

You can be a water rated, boy you ain’t legendary

Sue it far in the Caddy, I’ma chillin

To your girlies I’ma hero, to you suckers I’ma villian

I’ve done, get me mad I might try

Can’t find a better rhyme, if you do you better buy it

Serious and callous could be deadly to competitors

What am I sayin? (your gonna get yours)

[Chorus: scratched]

F the BS ..

F the BS ..

F the BS ..

[Verse 2]

Memories of bein broke, keep me on the war path

Hittin like a wreckin ball, Lord it’s like a punk blast

Swayed, raid in effect, my posse’s with it

Put a fifty on the floor, like a punk you wouldn’t get it

Neck snap, head crack, put you on a meat rack

I ain’t playin with you boy, you know I mean that

Physical rhymes all meant to intimidate

All niggaz take note, don’t imitate

Rippin is the cut, freaks scurry for my T-I-P

Tryna get an autograph from M-I-X-A-L-O-T

Down for the title match and you know what I’m talkin about

Muscle bound, full of things, knock a sucker’s lights out

Bring it to my level, boy you better start climbin

When she’s grindin, I’m hardcore rhymin

Lyric to your gut and all your lines just buckle

When you make it to the top, I put these boots on your knuckles

Walk into the party like a mob, wearin jet black

“Swass” skin in effect, sportin coon hat

Walk by sucker punk, look like eat crackers

He mumbled somethin, so my posse walked backwards

Catch ’em on the corner stone and hit ’em with the gat chrome

Let ’em know my posse’s gettin bigger, when were back home

A big maulin, you know my beat is def

You know who you are, F the BS

[Break]

Yeah boy, they rappin five slang

Cuttin, you know who it is

Comin back at ya, ain’t gonna put your name on wax

I really don’t wanna make you famous sucker

[Chorus]

F the BS

F the BS

F the BS

[Verse 3]

Reconnect my dialect with modified jargon

Heavy snaps, never lookin for a bargain

Tumble when the pressure’s on, walkin like a movie clips

Slow mo, pants low, jeans layin off my hip

Big shoes, laces loose, a rap warrior

Real beat boy, leavin crowds in euphoria

Transform, super fast, nice slice, what a blast

Movin like the speed of light, so quick I shatter plexiglass

[beat changes] Here’s the beat and c’mon girlies get with it

You like my tuning cabilities, admit it

It’s the man with the westbound attitude

Big gold rope, rusty knuckles, ain’t afraid of you

Raise an eyebrow, try to figure out how

Mix-A-Lot made the drums go (POW POW)

Understand it’s the undercover game plan

Mix-A-Lot soon to be your (TOP MAN)

Yes sirry and put my hammer on a convoy

Mix-A-Lot on the stage I’ma (ROUGH BOY)

Yes so rough boy, creepin up the backside

Mix-A-Lot sign ’em up for the (BIG FIGHT)

[solo of the new beat]

[two beats scratched]

[scratched]

Raised, raised in LA

[Verse 3]

Dynamo, good to go, rough on your stereo

I’m like a cannibal, got you like “Rambo”

Don’t like riff-raff kick you in the left calf

I ain’t a joke and no coke, buddy don’t laugh

I’m serious, my intention is to overthrow

The rap government from Crenshaw to Tupelo

It’s like a bug always tickin in my mind

It’s tellin me “buddy, it’s time”

[Chorus: scratched]

F the BS ..

F the BS ..

F the BS ..

[Outro: talking] [scratching continues]

Look here sucker, this is my program

I’m about to throw down and take over the rap land

You know what I’m sayin?

Somethin different, somethin new

Ain’t none of that same old stuff you hear on your stereo

You know I’m sayin, you know who I am

Check me out

F the BS, sucker

Yeah, F the BS

Sir Mix-A-Lot Baby Got Back

Oh, my, god. Becky, look at her butt.

It is so big. [scoff]

She looks like one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.

But, you know, who understands those rap guys? [scoff]

They only talk to her, because, she looks like a total prostitute, ‘kay?

I mean, her butt, is just so big.

I can’t believe it’s just so round, it’s like, out there, I mean— gross. Look!

She’s just so… black!

[Sir Mix-a-Lot:]

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 tough

‘Cause 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 you

And take your picture

My homeboys tried to warn me

But that butt you got makes me so horny

Ooh, Rump-o’-smooth-skin

You say you wanna get in my Benz?

Well, use me, use me

‘Cause you ain’t that average groupie

I’ve seen them dancin’

To hell with romancin’

She’s sweat, wet,

Got it goin’ like a turbo ‘Vette

I’m tired of magazines

Sayin’ 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? (Hell yeah!)

Tell ’em to shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!)

Shake that healthy butt!

Baby got back!

(LA face with Oakland booty)

Baby got back!

(LA face with Oakland booty)

(LA face with Oakland booty)

[Sir Mix-a-Lot:]

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 of that bubble

So I’m lookin’ at rock videos

Knock-kneed bimbos walkin’ like hoes

You can have them bimbos

I’ll keep my women like Flo Jo

A word to the thick soul sisters, I wanna get with ya

I won’t cuss or hit ya

But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna [moan]

Till 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 roll in my Mercedes (Yeah!)

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’ to do with my selection.

36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she’s 5’3″.

[Sir Mix-a-Lot:]

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, 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!

‘Cause your waist 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 sister, I can’t resist her

Red beans and rice didn’t miss her

Some knucklehead tried to diss

‘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) [4x]

Sir Mix-A-Lot Don’t Call Me Da Da

The Mack Daddy, rippin up skirts in the back of Caddies

If +Baby Got Back+ then baby can have me

Controversy made them ban me, understand me

Girls, bringin many problems to my world

Tryin to make Mix pay for them pearls

One had a baby and it’s a girl *baby giggling*

I swore I had protection, got an erection

Must resist temptation

Girls flock, ride my jock

‘Cause a big fat Porsche went around the block (mmm)

Met a young girl named Angel

She had a big long weave I’d love to mangle

So I’m puttin in work, lovin tight skirts

So you know a mack poppa gotta flirt (woo!)

Room triple deuced me and baby got loose

Look at baby wiggle that big caboose

Got a little tiny waist, everything’s in place

I’m pacin, facin the situation

It’s on, put it on tape, troop

Got a little sex now I’m sittin on a lawsuit

Nine months later, little baby pops out

Blonde hair, blue eyes, with her feets in her mouth

Well that can’t be me (nope)

‘Cause I’m a nappy haired black man, dressed like a O.G.

Angel’s gold diggin, this girl’s driven

Tryin to catch Mix on slippin

Just because I get paid don’t mean I get played

For the bank I’ve made

And after the blood test I got proof

Your baby is cute … but don’t call me Da Da!

Don’t call me Da Da!

The next story, met a young skirt, said her name was Laurie

Smoked much dank, but her life was boring

Got with Mix, now she adores me

Nasty nigga named Mix (yep)

On a tour bus with the porno flicks (mm)

Anxious ’cause I wanna knock boots

And I don’t sleep with the girls in my group

So Mack Daddy is strollin and patrollin

Big fat bank I’m holdin

Bus pulls up to the mini mart

And that’s where Laurie works and my game starts

Laurie knows nothin bout rap though

And that peeled my superstar cap, so

I’ll just go back to the basics

And even that game is stiff, baby, face it

So now Laurie and me is headed to the ?monkey dope?

Straight gettin to the ?monkey poke?

Dip dip dip, one two three

*she moans* ‘Cause I’m a vet’ran, see

I kissed her cheek while Laurie was asleep

Let one more groupie use me (mm)

One year later she’s tryin to creep

ON MY MONEY

But I ain’t the one to get played the sap (uh-uh)

When I hit the sack, big Richard is capped

Your man’s a punk for leavin kids with you

The baby’s cute, but don’t call me Da Da!

Don’t call me Da Da!

I’m sittin, in Long Beach Cali, eatin Popeyes’ chicken

Thinkin bout the next snake charmer I’m hittin

Met a fly skirt, nickname was Kitten

And I start spittin,

WhassUP with the brother in the passenger seat?

Homeboy bailed ’cause his game was weak

And he was callin her bitch, I was callin her baby

He got the finger, I got the lady

Me and Kitten left the place quickened (yep)

Busta, you and cousin Kitten need a stickin

TO THE ‘TEL, TO THE ‘TEL, TO THE ‘TEL WE RUSH

(gasp) The jimmy-hat bust

I start sweatin, conscience bettin

That I’ma have to deal with bed wettin

But I’ma handle this thing like a man

Settle down and bring the kid up, that’s the plan

Three weeks later I get this call though

Kitten sounds happy on the telephone

She said “Go on and live your life, bro,

‘Cause EPT said no,” so don’t call me Da Da!

Don’t call me Da Da!

Don’t call me Da Da!

Da da!

Don’t call me Da Da! I ain’t yo daddy, baby!

Da Da!

Don’t call me Da Da!

Sir Mix-A-Lot Jump On It

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 Keana, can ya take us out to Poppa Doughs

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 105 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

(Aiy 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

Sir Mix-A-Lot Iron Man

[background is Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man,” performed by the group Metal Church]

[chanting]

[Verse 1]

You could strike a match in my hand

Too black to tan, heavy-metal rhythm 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

Got a ’87 ‘vette with a fat gas petal

Live a hard life, shave with a knife

Love to get freaky on the gloomiest nights

[Chorus]

I got childhood scars in the streets of my life

Girls laughed, now they beggin’ to be Mix-A-Lot’s wife

The new breed is here, vigilante’s of rap

Got eyes like fire, with my boys at my back

Now I’m back for revenge, all the rumors must end

Freaky breathin’ is out, bold music is in

I lot of dummies gettin’ money, just by clappin’ their hands

Not the style or desire of a true Iron Man

(You know what I wanna hear)

[Verse 2]

A southside broola don’t drink coolers

Big money maker, not a dumb drug user

It’s real not drama, hate pet llamas

Met Clint Eastwood, slapped his momma

Billboard thriller, Avenue chiller

Hard rock lover, and soft rock killer

Girls in the house, watch your blouse

I’m the man your momma 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 your metal ain’t real

Your rock’s like mush, this rock’s like steel

[Chorus]

(uh, everybody now, [chanting])

[Verse 3]

A big ego crushin’, MC’s fussin’

More lines in my face than a sunburn rushin’

Hardly ever speakin’, girl’s be tweakin’

Buggin’ off the drums, cause the snare be peakin’

World’s most hated, too bad to be rated

Makin’ you mad and I’m elated

Beats sickapater, your bad I’m greater

Tougher than Schwarzenegger in “Terminator”

Guitar cord ripper, Perrier sipper

Transform scratchin’ and not a needle skipper

Flesh like steel, MC’s kneel

Mickey D’s Shrimp Salad not part a my meal

Heavy drum hitter, can’t stand kidders

Hate boss metal and I’m not a bullshitter

Girlies wanna kiss, suckers throw a fist

A lot of rappers try to rap, but it ain’t like this

[Sir Mix-A-Lot talking]

Ha haha ha, the true Iron Man of rap droppin’ this big metal hammer

[voice yelling over Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Now that’s true metal, posse up, yeah

Sir Mix-A-Lot Aintsta

[chorus:]

Want to be hard, false face nigga

shaky ass finger on the deuce deuce trigger (Ainsta)

Think about your pimping square

Mark hatin’ nigga never had no heart (You is a motherfucin’ ainsta)

Fronting around your homies

Wanna be down, now you wanna claim Sea-Town (Aintsta)

anna be a baller, can you be a hustler?

Not if you is an undercover busta

[Verse 1: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

What about this motherfucking aintsta

Wannabe gangsta

Sittin’ in the mirror throwin’ sets at your self like a pranksta

Lil’ punk-ass mark

Playing hardcore but you gots no heart

Nigga never had a set of these

Worshiping G’s

How can you be down?

Nigga please

You wanna play hard for your hood

Tell them how you whooped Mix-a-Lot’s ass good

But what your homeboys don’t know

I’ma let them know

If you ever wanna squabble

I’ma crack your skull, bro

‘Cause you need your narrow ass kicked

You little buster ass snitch

And I’ma say it once and never say it no more

You ain’t hard ’cause you once sold – dope

‘Cause you was slangin’ like a straight up bitch

Rolled over on your whole damn click

And you can’t spell dirt

Let alone do none

Paid your homies, but your Mom is broke son

Now tell me who is a sell-out

I’ma read your ass on the spell out PUNK!

B-E-E-A-A-T-C-H- a.k.a. is Mr. Jake

Little square ass mark boy, you ain’t no gangsta-

You is a motherfucking Ainsta.

[Verse 2: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

First you wanna sound like Ice Cube

Jumping on stage with a mic trying to mean mug fools

Now you wanna be like Snoop

But you can’t

Cause you fake with your shit, Nigga you and your crew

Bitch Motherfucker out of Woodinville

Faking just to get a little record deal

Used to try to rap like Chuck D

Ain’t had a soul sister since I known you G

Huh

And thats real

Now ask your homeboys how they feel

And they will tell your ass the real

Scoop up your cats

With your fake gangsta ass

You could fool them for a minute

But that shit won’t last

You sound kind of hard on your demo

But If your Mom and Dad heard it, they would beat your ass though

Cause you is a bitch made gangsta sap

Tellin’ all these stories about your see through gat

Ever since I known you

you had one gat

But like a cluck motherfucker you sold that

Yeah

You wanted me to come real

Huh

Now you got your cat peeled beeaatch

And don’t start frontin’ bout your pimp game youngster

You fuck your own hoes like a trick ass busta

Learn the game brfore you claim it son

Study Hustlers 101

You’s a motherfuckin Ainsta

[chorus:]

[Verse 3: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

What you did on the grind don’t impress me

Four years of slanging and your pockets is still empty

And you say yu got street game

Need to buffalo your money like a baller man

But bitch made niggas get no love

I done seen your pictures with your fake ass mean mug

Kind of lookin’ like a sweet thang

An old pretty motherfucker with a swap meet ring

Khakis nice and fit

looking like your punk ass at the Chevron bitch

Got your gut all bunched up

Shirt tucked in’

A forty in your hand with a stupid ass grin

Fake like a motherfucker

Swearing you is a player when your girl is with another sucker

But you won’t cut her loose, cause you can’t shake her

You is a motherfucking Ainsta

[chorus:]