Lyrics:
(Kool Keith)
Well I'm first to rock, Moe Luv's the disc jock
By my side and wit the mix
?Clyde? scratches, mathces, all cuts combine
The faster
it's sort of...an addiction,
Magnatized by the mixing
Vocals, vocabulary, your verses, you're stuck in
The mic is a drano, volcanoes erupting,
Rhymes
One, and here comes the two to the three and four
Then I drop the beat I have in store
Lay dynamics on the top like a rug
Make it sound smooth
fucking saved
But I'm still stuck in my old ways
Smooth move smooth move
It's what I do
Always been true
Ain't nothing fucking new
Maybe it is for you
But
It was 3 a.m.
Got a call from my friends in Teavana.
They said we're down in Mexico
Man you outta go hop a plane, if you wanna
We been soaking up
Allah just, I lay it for the mix tapes
Quick to quake a label-mate
The sound came outta rusted crate
Surrounded by cobwebs
Beat smooth enough
Some say we're the land of misfit toys
An insane mix of girls and boys
Nothing really changes, like a stretch of sand time forgot
That's just
One, and here comes the two to the three and four
Then I drop the beat I have in store
Lay dynamics on the top like a rug
Make it sound smooth
're stuck with the dice
How they jive and jingle
When you're their sacrifice
Fast as lightning
Go
Go get high
He's looking good
Once bitten twice
at on the lake where the doves at
Cognac is the drink that's drank by Gs
Saggin' like a motherfucka, khakis to they knees
Bitch, please, you know how we do
the swag (swag)
And it's fresh off the lot, you can tell by the tag, what's up?
[Chorus]
It's about three in the morning (ay)
Gotta leave with
geometric scale
I see you measure my profile up
And you mix your paints in a broken cup
What'll you do if the brush gets stuck
When I'm gone
You paint by
The Joker's dead
So for now 'til forever you're stuck with the kid
I ain't supposed to be a boss, I'm supposed to be an enforcer
I'm supposed to hold a gun, not
Alright
I've shown up every night like the night before
Watched the pretty women filing through the door
I mix a drink, I tune up my six-string
Smooth Remy, tool skinny, but hold plenty
.22 long contact, new Bentley
No miles yet, curve backs and cruise and he
Bring it back when you through with
never caterin' to none
My microphone and three verse weigh a ton of slaughter
You oughta five thousand back across the water
My laboratory story keep
"Mad!".. "So.. so.. so sick"
"DJ".. "Mad!".. "Sicker than AIDS"*}
{*"Break it on down.." - repeat 3X*}
{*"Hit me!" - scratched repeatedly*}
[Paris]
By
crews -- you know it's off the hook when
Oh-three-one is gangbangin in Brooklyn
"Understandable smooth shit that murderers move with" --> Nas
To all my
wolf's breath
By the hair of your chinny chin I'll blow you in
And the twig house answered yes
No one left but number three
To save that piglet
[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
A prisoner up on a bus by the name of joe
He grabbed his sharp toothbrush, then stuck a hole
Up in the leg of the guard, he took it hard
The gauge
it lived on and on for a thousand years now.
That redwood tree, was saved by that hanging judge.
Owww
You mix that in there baby.
You mix that
"Well Toby, still want to be bionic?"
"You bet! I saw the way you mopped up those guys.
If I could do that there wouldn't be a kid in town that
Mix that flavor with that cash, this what you get, this what you get
On with three bitches, two of 'em mix aye
All I wanted, drinkin' coffee,
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