Lyrics:
motherfuckers up when we pass by
Until I die, live the life of a boss player, 'cause even when I'm high
Fuck with me and get crossed later, the futures in my
getting off the 405
Be with this bad bitch, she living in the south
I'm met her at the club with my nigga Gotti
5-3, thick, with a lot of pride
the Crowbar with some common sense
You can stay hella bent, I be at the water stackin presidents
[ CHORUS ]
[ VERSE 2: Sir Mix-A-Lot ]
One of these
$hort, don't say it tonight, beeatch
It started on a bright morning in 1987
I was in my drop-to Caddy y'all
Gettin sucked by a bitch named Helen
Nasty
collection
It's your mix, congratulations
We changed a lot and then some, some
Know that we have always been down, down
If I ever didn't thank you, you
Then
and Tanqueray
Stay in the mix like Alezay
V.I.P., my shit parked valet
On the prowl again to get hunnies familiar with the smile again
Some try to assault
(bitch)
Banks jump yo fat ass in the mix
Yeah the shit gets hectic, but you gots to accept it
10 years chillin' in the game, well respected
But check
don't want to gain the whole world, and lose my soul
Don't wanna walk away, let me hear the people say
(Mr. Franklin, step up to the mic sir)
Check
don't like the job
Secretaries don't like my ways
I hire and fire, give you checks on the spot
I hire and fire, give you checks when it's hot
get back skillz, my get back skillz.
I hurt my ass off by Drink-A-Lot,
But I'm about my cash,
But if an,
Ignit mutha fucka want to step to me,
shit
The bigger the bank
The bigger the bag
Riding my own wave it come with the swag
Ain't been to jail but I stay getting booked
My times here bitch I
*phone rings*
[Hello, could I speak with, Bushwick Bill?]
Hello, this is Bushwick, motherfucking Bill
[Yes sir, I'm calling to inform
I couldn't be it
Hypmontised by her goodlooks?
Yeah maybe, but a victim for a good crook? Nope not me!
Consider yourself worn so you can stay.
me do the old man dance boy
I smoke plenty grass boy
I'm touching on the ass boy
Go ahead and Sir Mix-A-Lot put it on the glass boy
I'm from
me mr drip a lot
I whip the work with 2 hands sir mix a lot
I got the sauce yeah they call me mr drip a lot
Drip a lot
Drip a lot
I got the sauce yeah
a death
Check yo self, you just been invaded by true soldiers
December 31st, 96 (the game is over)
[Chorus]
(I've got all my life to live, plus with
the garage, I'm a get me in that man
My Bad Side
I want him, I want Mix-A-Lot man
I know well listen, take him out man
He dissed my sister
Don't let
me, and what I feel
Might find their legs bein' replaced by steel
This is a brand new year, and the penalty is death
So there won't be a lot
right by a mic stand
Write a couple checks sip a
Couple y'all like that
It's my fact y'all are fiction with diction
Speak with conviction or we shouldn't
before the game
This is a God's dream my mini me is a mix of
Two of my favorite things
Me and my wife's face
All I think about every day is how
I get my
Dirty, tired, fucked around
And get my foot off in his ass
Let's hood ride, mob, fuck talkin' bad
No punk let?s me check myself, partner
I ain't gonna bust
the fifth
I read the fifth amendment
We both criminals with bad intentions
They say time heals all
But if I could shortcut
My success, Corvettes by tomorrow
bolt
What it is though, I know what it ain't
Y'all go hard, I go to the bank
Check my check stubs, b**** it's Mack Maine
Young money up and runnin',
Triple-six, come in my mix, flood it with tricks
I'm sharper than rough spoons for icepicks
Niggas price bricks till dawn, if the money is long
Cats who play
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