Lyrics:
country
Sunset in the background never gets old
Got some dirt on my boots, mud tires on the road
And we all talk alike, yes sir, no ma'am
Seal
currency we got more diamonds
Look at them diamonds shinin', they shinin'
Make your bitch blind man we is so stupid
Migo Bands came with a whole lot of gold
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
limitations
Concrete, concrete like Greg Street
Sufferin from a severe case of inner-city blues
I ain't got no clues to which directions I need to choose
brought
Them through the Alps
Catching the enemy completely by
Surprise and defeating
Them there are no Alps and
No obstacles that can stand in the
Way
kitchen hot
Working with little to nothing but sir I mix a lot
Mission was the ceiling
Tops
Tipping (Tip in) the shit I drop
Will he (wheelie pop) pop ?
I'ma see you in Hell (inhale)
Battle rap? Boy you wouldn't win a debate
The type of legacy I got
You don't get by mistake
Man don't let them amp you up
catch a case
(Haha)
Everyday i'm in these streets? i'm on a paper chase
(Yes sir)
All these diamonds in this richard millie! hard to see the face
(You
cooler than Dippin Dots
I dipped for a hot while but baby got back like Sir Mix-A-Lot
One tray
Fifty shots
We get the guap, while getting sloshed
I'm
and every single word I have to say
Because?
Rah Digga?remains raw
(Follow the rules)
(Ya hear me, huh?)
Now I got a second brother me and this one was
my mum won't smile because her son's on trial
We got different types of problems
What do you know about livin' in a shadow
Where every single thing
Hello, welcome
Yes, this song has lots of intense suicidal stuff
So I mean you're welcome
But you're also welcome to skip this because
You know, we
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
It's
to Treach
Bit the Pharcyde then A Tribe Called Quest
And you gots no respect for me, is that right?
Well jump your ass on the train witcha backpack tight
just doin' the most
I heard your album and you heard my album and nigga for real it's not even close
You be lying 'bout a lot of things
You be rockin'
no 12 chase
You niggas is lames
All y'all take the bait
Big crib by the lake
I'll put up a date
When we gon drop at yo spot
FRN the coldest
Know you
get that hot
Then start to Sir Mix-A-Lot
[E-40] White girl (x4)
(?White girl" continues to repeat x12 in background)
I got that, whiiiiiiiiiite girl
I
sixty-three grams
And cookin' the two in a split, woah
Hook in the bag, a hook in the jab
No singles, that's all I got left
They either come with the cash,
going voodoo
She do what I want without pay
Got a blade on her hip
Hesitate, she grip
Penetrate yo ribs
Eliminate those fibs
No KKK, no discrimination
the bull pen
Make that a fine, no
If you don't like my bullets, to hell if he ain't fashion
L.A. looters, throw your mask on
Gambini got his mash
Rewind the clip
Yeah, I'll start by taking back
It's Spring of '17
Sitting shotgun there in my car
You said celebrities are sad, no matter how big or small
to Kalapana
Got a lot of hotties as sweet as Papaya out here
Dishonor will get you cracked
Up in ya mouth without fear
Out here it's fresh water fuck ya wi-fi
to Kalapana
Got a lot of hotties as sweet as Papaya out here
Dishonor will get you cracked
Up in ya mouth without fear
Out here it's fresh water fuck ya wi-fi
to Kalapana
Got a lot of hotties as sweet as Papaya out here
Dishonor will get you cracked
Up in ya mouth without fear
Out here it's fresh water fuck ya wi-fi
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