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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
[Verse 3 - Sir Mix-A-Lot]
Criticized by the main stream
For not bein the house jig and keepin things squeaky clean
But I can't, so I ain't
But I won't play
[Sir Mix-A-Lot]
Tightly knit, my script is legit
I'm force feedin competition, more rebel shit
Rhymes on a roll, cold yet bold
I did "Posse

I did good in my hood as a youngster
The Heavster was never a punkster, no sir
No ma'am, hot damn, me and Michael Jackson jammed
I dug Soul
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
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
Hear what I say Mix-A-Lot, say sound like Grand Ole Opry cotton picker
Now before we end this filthy cut, we got a few things we have to say
the radio handle the truth? Nope
Uncut, no edits, no censors
You can get a plastic rapper from any old dispenser
A penny a yard, to make a record ain't
On the radio liver stereo, lookin' clean

All of a sudden I'm attractive, I'm handsome, I'm gorgeous
But back in the day you used to say, you can't afford
to 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
And kill that no sir, yes sir, and thank you ma'am
'Cause the word is a luxury a black man can't afford
That's why poverty's on the rise and we still
the weather like in Seattle?

[ Sir Mix-A-Lot ]
All my ex's, eat this one

(You can have her)

[ VERSE 1 ]
I used to have this girl, let's say her name was Mona
say some cry
Can't get by so later on they die
Because the strong will survive
The weak will perish
Ignorance is a poison and knowledge will nourish
overdosed the injection that leave you posted and deaded
This so gangsta, they can't make a radio edit
This that act correct, cause I ain't got to pack
Whodini disappeared and Doug E. Fresh went stale
And I think Sir Mix-A-Lot got into some bad ale
The Fat Boys broke up and then one of 'em died
And when I
to splurge on effects and reverb
Once that cue system shit hit them ears your brain's gonna curve
Drop the mister two inch, half inch for any edits
without radio play
Maybe at night but no airplay in the day

I couldn't understand why to be exact
Our music was good and I was far from whack
if you ain't got that pin number dummy, you can't call me
To hook up with Mix you gotta call that number
Then sit by the phone and wonder
Will he
lot of "No sir-ee's."
You've gotta dig, dig, dig, dig for a dollar,
'Taint as simple as you think.
You can't purloin a sirloin
Or the butcher will
wife because of it
But I got this life because of it
Told ya, game don't never get old

[Sir Mix-A-Lot - talking]
Yeah don't grab the game bull by
to spit a lot of game
But back then, I was just saying my name
I had a record player, on my stereo
Got down on my knees with my radio
From Oakland
with Dean

Real player-ism and that's no joke
Snort a lot of coke with ho's that like to smoke
I was makin' records but wasn't makin' money
You can take
the weather act's it's a shame okay
Badder behavior in our s*** is flavor
Grandiose endeavors yes the quest is greater
Make no mistake I know the time and I
the weather act's it's a shame okay
Badder behavior in our shit is flavor
Grandiose endeavors yes the quest is greater
Make no mistake I know the time and I
hunks of holly,
Fill the cup and don't say "when."
Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens,
Mix the punch, drag out the dickens,
Even though the prospect