Sir Mix-A-Lot I Check My Bank

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” “Boom! Here I am, rich”

Checkin my bank

“Cash money, cash-cash.. money” “Boom! Here I am, rich”

AhhhI checks my bank

“Cash money, cash-cash.. money” “Boom! Here I am, rich”

Straight checkin my bank

“Cash money, cash-cash-cash-cash…. cash money”

In the magazine I look like a dope man

cause I’m paid, and I’m suckin up to no man

And in the rap game I gets no respect

cause I’m checkin more bank than the Heat check

Yeah I’m a pimp and my hoe is the system

Uncle Sam might think I just dissed him

But nah I’m just pumpin straight facts

You either be a mack, or you get macked

Some of the jealous wanna roll on the boss

But this HK’s keepin em tossed

Cause I duck them deuce deuce treys at point blank range

[automatic gunfire] Attitudes get changed

I’m about making these dividends

and every motherfucker ain’t my friend

And I check my back when I count my snaps

And niggaz that snatch get slapped

Girls wanna roll, that’s cool

but I’m not to be played that fool

Some niggaz think a brother with money is slippin

but I’ve be down, so quit trippin

My goal, to increase the size of this bank

I hold, and bring up the brothers whose down

to roll, and keep all the shit under my control

That’s how I’m livin, I check my bank

[Chorus: DJ Punisher]

“Cash money, cash-cash.. money”

“Clockin more dollars than Chase Manhattan”


I check my bank [DJ Punisher starts scratch]

C’mon Punish! “Cash money”

A word to the cops, I can’t be stopped

A word to my enemies, I don’t drop props

A word to the Klan, I don’t pick crops

You can run up with your whip but you’ll just run up and get popped

A word to the Tipper, rap won’t fall

A word to the bourgeoise, fuck all y’all

A word to Apartheid you bouts to fall

You can kill a couple brothers but you’ll never get us all

Straight laced game’s what I’m poppin at the new jacks

Mack Daddy niggaz like to snatch fat sacks

I used to be nice with my rhymes, and now I drop dimes

*Beastie Boys scratch “What’s the time?”*

It’s time to get paid in the nine-two G

Recession never stopped a nigga like me

I’m breakin no laws but I’m livin on edge

Puttin CEO’s to bed

Business, straight yankin in dead presidents

It’s like sellin dope, but the money ain’t bent

The game is stiff, but I’ma get mine

My set is a dollar sign, I check my bank

Yup, checkin my bank, fool, ha ha

Yup, I check my bank, sheeit

Straight checkin my bank

C’mon Punish! [DJ Punisher starts scratchin]

Punish em! Punish em!

Show these DJ’s what time it is Punish

Peace out y’all, and I’m checkin my bank

I checks my bank

I checks my bank, straight paid clown

Checkin my bank

I checks my bank!

Sir Mix-A-Lot Swass

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 …


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 bill for fatten

Yep, my phone be ringin like you wish yours would

But my girl stays cool cause she looks so good

Punk motherfucker called me weak

Just turn up the bass and feel this beat

Feel my bass drum …


(“Stop it, get silly, swass”) [x4]

(“Stop it, get silly, swass”) [backwards x4]

[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 …


[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, like you, you know I like you [x4]

[Chorus x6]

Sir Mix-A-Lot National Anthem

[Intro: Mix talks while The Star Spangled Banner plays in the background]

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!

[Verse One: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

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 cuz 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

[Verse Two: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

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 negotions 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

[Verse Three: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

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

[Verse Four: Sir Mix-a-Lot]

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

Sir Mix-A-Lot Put ‘m On The Glass

“C’mon now” [repeated]

[Verse 1]

Got ’em up, yeah my Taliano, not many brothers is rollin in Diablos

Hittin the hard rock, to finish my work spot

I’m lookin for females to cop (yeah)

You thinkin 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, this thing I’m holin

I still got game ain’t a damn thing change

I spot ten V’s in the left lane

Eye contact is on, I’m rollin down windows pointin at thongs

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 fresh 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 tease

Indecent exposure can’t hold ya, it’s makin you bolder

Cause baby is a Mix-A-Lot soldier

But lusting is on balls

Everybody’s beggin to get into your draws

What’s makin you hit brown?

+Baby Got Back+ or (shake it up and down)

You can follow me home cause this bone is on full blown

Straight growin 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 fangs

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 Mix so I can’t stand this

But I got a family, lovin this scandalous rap

Guess who I got layin on the canvas


Hard from the three way party

Baby them things is workin

Fillin up the passenger window with Jergens

You hit the gas I hit my drool

Baby can I get with you?

Rush the blood ’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 draftin

The whole right lane is draftin

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

Sir Mix-A-Lot Man U Luv Ta Hate

What you mean I’m gone man

You don’t even know me

Well go ahead and get ’em up busta

Come on with it . . . Wahaa!


Y’all bustas just don’t know

Y’all can’t get with the Mix-A-Lot show

The man you love to hate ain’t phased by the fakes

If you want to playa hate

Eat a big ‘ole snake

[chorus #2: x4]

It’s The Man You Love 2 Hate

The J.R. Ewing of Seattle

[Verse 1: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Me and Kid Sensation with that home away from home

In the fat butt dulie with the painted out chrome

15’s whippin’ in the backside

With the boom boom boom thats how I ride

And Cha Ching I’m a player making ballas holla

I got a girl in Mississippi, but I never call her

Cause it’s like that I still got game

I can memorize your number, but I still don’t know your name

The conservatives are thinking I’m a pimp (I’m a pimp)

Just because I kind of stroll with a limp (With a limp)

But I still got love for the few who stayed down

But some of my ex’s ain’t around

Why is that ??

Cause the rock man got them and their butt’s just dropped

They started losing weight

Their grill’s looking shot

So I switched her

I’m steadily keepin’ ’em mixed up

I’m keeping, down and holding my crown and giving them hiccupps

Boo-Hooing (Boo-Hooing)

When you call me

But we was playing on each other so you are wrong, see

Sitting around anti-nails

Your disputing my sales

Fantasizing ’bout counting my mail

[chorus # 2: x4]

[Verse 2: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Lady listen, Do I really make your man that pissed ?? ( mmm-hmmm)

Flipped it around and tell your man like this (mmm-hmmm)

If you hate Mix, than why you talk about Mix ?

You say you ain’t a trick, but you trippin’ so she’s splittin’

Now she’s coming out to Mrs. Ponderosa

She drove a beater so I heard her getting closer

She got an old V-Dub (Volkswagen) with the damaged exaust

But she was fine, so I figured I could toss

And watch the 808 kick drum

Makes this girlie get dumb

She’s grabbing on my bum tryin’ to get one

And I’m taxing, waxing, I gotta take a note

Frrrtttt!!! Farted on the downstroke (ewwwwweeww)

Playa’s in the house can you feel me

got these playahaters lookin’ at me silly

But with this mouthpiece a brother’s gotta win

The ladies say you are fine, but your mackin’ is kind of thin

No more Broadway, I’m hollering Rainier

Swoop around blocks dropping windows yelling, “Come Here”

And you complain ’cause I mad a little change

Its all in the game, boy to hell with the fame

[Chorus #2: x4] [Then falls into Chorus #1 x1]

[Verse 3: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

I got my buck on them rolling down to Cali

I got a brand new home out in the valley

Jumping off I-5

I crack a left-eye, got to pick my homey up the attitude adjuster

Seven in a jet black truck with a deaf black G-Lock in case we out of luck

Cause with these haters you gotta keep your strap

Cause we taking all their sugars now they tryin to take us back (Yep)

So you got your and I got mine, so why do you whine about my grind ??

Sitting around blaming Mix-a-Lot for your situation

Boy get a job and quit player hatin’

It ain’t about winning your respect

I’m just checking more mail than you check

So heres the finger next to my index

I’m all about your lady

Cause she’s all abou the sizex (sex) haha

[chorus #2: x4]

Yeah, the Pacific Time Zone’s head honcho

The amigo force feed you soe of this bad ass ego

You know what I’m saying

Try going platinum suckas



Watch out for Cuatro, Motherfm [bleeped out]

Sir Mix-A-Lot Buttermilk Biscuits

Now I’m your big maul 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 look I’m catchin’

I hate dumb skeezers, MC beater

Drop 5 grand on my Bird wattmeter

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 [x3]

(Lord have mercy Mix-A-Lot’s got me rappin’ about biscuits now)

Freak 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 at my favorite deli

Wrapped and sealed by a freak named Shelley (huh huh)

Buttermilk biscuits [x3]

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 ten 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 expand

Put them suckers off in your oven

Grab your girlie and get a little lovin’

Add a dab of honey if you want to get funny

Microwave the suckers if you want your honey runny

Kind of get naughty at the Mix-A-Lot party

And rub them suckers all over your body (huh huh)

Sir Mix-A-Lot Seminar

[breathing noises, bell ringing]

Welcome to the seminar (go, go, go, go)


To the Seminar (go, go, go, go) [x3]

[Verse 1]

Sittin’ at a table, lookin’ like we Gods, we’re dressed in white, for the rap so tight

Serious men with the strength of ten, comin’ through like animals lookin’ for a fight

Intelligent, packed, so inadequate, step back, Mix-A-Lot’s here to inforce what’s dope

A brand new album, better than the last one, listen up close or you might get smoked

Some say rap has become repititious, mixin’ up beats of a old great jams

Some hate me, some imitate me, but take me out, I’ll be damned

This album is a demonstration of various styles of a hip hop art

I got paid, but I do it cause I love it, all enemies hush, let the seminar start

(go, go, go, go)


To the seminar (go, go, go, go) [x3]

(The seminar)

[Verse 2]

Break it up, the rebel of rap is about to toss up with a brand new style

Your host on the whole west coast rippin’ up bedposts when I work that pile

A meetin’ of the minds to elevate hardcore, take it to a level where few have been

You brag but your brain’s like mush, hush learn somethin’ my friend

Seminar dope, smoke you cope, nope, ha I got ’em in the scope

Scramble, run and hit ’em like Op, chope, goin’ for the throat

Rustle up revenue pack it in a gunny sack

Settin’ up a trap for a new snack pack [echo]

A snack pack is a girl with the thickness, little in the middle, but she got much back

Runnin’ like a Rolex, stuck in the hype mode, track after track, keep it real for a fact

I paid my posse unlike you boy, they all roll tough and they all stay strapped

Get up in my face, shake my hand, saw you on the screen and your head got fat

Forgot where your from, but I’ll tell ya where you at

Lip synchin’, lyin’ and about to get slapped

Smoke some of this, suck it up then think

If your group’s not paid then you might get backstabbed

You’s a brother, but you actin’ like another

Who was tryin’ to get rich, now he’s workin’ wit scabs

I’m a genius, brains are the new thing, knowledge is in, and I’m pour somethin’ wit it

You attend my dope Seminar, and listen to the lyrics [echo], hit it

[Verse 3]

Debonair your nightmare, don’t stare down when I clear from Greenpuff Square

Dare to squares, break ’em up into pears, yours boys got scared

I bang, bang hardware

Four four shoot ’em up, cock and pop pop

Desert Eagle Magnum and it stops

Waitin’ for crime to roll and pick locks

Mauseburg pump blasts, he got dropped

That is the life of a ‘Hip Hop Soldier’, I’m hated in the hood so I gotta stay strapped

Rollin’ in a drop top SEC, cops stop, wanderin’ why I’m heavily packed

I’m legally armed and like dynamite I’m ready to blast on punks who play hard

I love to love, but I can’t so I ain’t, silence [echo] drop the Seminar

[breathing noises, and bell ringing]

(Welcome to the Seminar)

Sir Mix-A-Lot Suburbian Nightmare

[Verse 1]

You can check my blackness, fact is

I’m rough as a cactus

Now I gotta change what I practice

So I went to the suburbs and bought me a big house

And now they wanna run a brother out?

I’m a well-educated young maker of revenue

Rollin’ in a big black BMW

So I’m supposed to fit because I’m straight legit

But the police STILL wanna trip

They accuse me of robbin’ myself

Never seen a brother with wealth

Hell, I thought I was big, and now I’m trapped in the house

‘Cause the cops got my crib staked out

The police chief is runnin’ for comissioner

But if I get outta this, chief, I’m gettin’ ya

Cheif needs a cover-up plan ’cause he heard I’m famous

Called a crazy white boy, name was Amos

I thought Amos was a burglar

But when he saw me, he said I never heard of ya

He couldn’t tell north from south

But Amos was my only way out

of this suburbian nightmare



My suburbian nightmare

[Verse 2]

I may not look like Beaver, but you don’t either

I bought a big house for the breather

Even in the suburbs, cops are my enemy

And all the rich liberals ain’t friendly

So Amos got a shotgun and I got a skillet

Anything movin’, I’ma straight up kill it

I’m a black man on the come-up, I got done up

And roughed up by a cop tryin’ to get hooked up

I got a meal and I just sealed two more deals

And now I’m runnin’ from the cops? This ain’t real!

You see, the cops sent Amos in to play that role,

Be a burglar and rob my home?

They offered him a deal and then took it back

Ol’ Amos should have signed them a contract

Cheif walks in talkin’ that +nigga+ smack

*punch* “oof!” “+nigga, take+ that!”

Now they want me for attempted murder

The craziest case that a brother ever heard of

The neighborhood fears me, they’re scared to get near me

The cops wanna smear me

My suburbian nightmare

Suburbian nightmare

[Verse 3]

I used to eat pig feet, now I’m eatin’ lobster

Gettin’ my check, boy, the hell with them propers

Life still ain’t changed ’cause I gotta get my hustle on

Just to get these cops gone

Four or five mil’ can’t make my race change

It can make the pace change, but it won’t maintain

I can’t go outside to jog

‘Cause my next-door neighbor got a prejudiced dog

But it’s America, home of the free

Life in the ‘burbs ain’t nothin’ like TV

Now I’m runnin’ from the cop clan

‘Cause my neighborhood told the cops: “It was a black man”

Mr. and Mrs. Gilman next door

Puffin’ on a joint, kinky to the core

And that’s the typical role model

White picket fence, big house and a bottle

Who can I blame for the stereotypical mix-up?

The innocent again get tricked up

Things is supposed to change when you grow to my size

Open your eyes to my suburbian nightmare

[black woman laughing]


My suburbian nightmare

[black woman laughing]

My suburbian nightmare

[black woman laughing]

Sir Mix-A-Lot Testarossa

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 with’ 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 with’ 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

The clutter you others mutter is 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


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

Backtalk tolerated none, son

Left you at the gun when I hit gear one

Now I’m in third and you think that’s quick

Huh, wait till I hit fifth

Me and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacks

You said fat now I’m yo to the max

Want Mix-A-Lot for your next attack

Hey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gat

Two hundred sixty pounds of pure pain

Critical mass is my homeboy’s name

My personal trainer, taking weight gainer

Got the bulk to crush and contain ya

On the tach, I’m like a wind ax

Cutting up air like Boeings aircraft

Time to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold ya

I’m your Testarosa

Up to fourth gear, the speed increase

Police got beef with the word chief

Move or lose, I excuse the wack dudes

You light my fuse and clear out or get used

I go 100 in a 55

No need to lip synch, I’m straight out live

So I’m rough lust who wanna be tough

You fuss and cuss wearing that Raider’s stuff

Fake fools from around the way

Knowing damn well, you ain’t from LA

Ashamed where you come from son, so you rattle

Like it or not, I scream straight up Seattle

Rip up streets with a lyrical sweet

Don’t peep or creep or you lose your freak

The cam’s growl, engine loud

My tongue keep beating ’em down

Rev it up, get ready for fifth

Just hit ’em with a maximum dis

I roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control ya

And I’m your Testarosa

I’m your Testarosa

Yo Punish, show ’em what time it is

Gear number five, you’re eyes get wide

So realize that I survive and I rhyme for mine

I rope the dope and is he coming up, nope

I ain’t the joke so don’t hope for my throat

There it is, the whiz gets his

The word quiz is what it is and Mix don’t give

Sight to the wack who act like Max

And try to jack a pop rap to hit the map

That ain’t like me, it ain’t cool

To rob another fool them claim you rule

You boot but not me, troops, you like juice

So you hit the stage wearing my boots

Uh, uh cupcake, I ain’t about to get rape by fake

Just look at the tail light shrink and then think

How I left you pink in a lyrical kink

Time to drop to my gears and then stop

‘Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jock

Turbo cone is 230 up on ya

I’m your Testarosa [x3]

Sir Mix-A-Lot Let It Beaounce

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, [slurp] 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


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!








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)