Lyrics:
[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
drop, your bitch bop, yes sir (yes sir)
That pinky ring, that wrist watch, that chain rocky, yes sir (yes sir)
Them numbers up, them hoes mad, them boys
cake, faggot ass nigga!
[Verse Three: Sir Mix-A-Lot]
Let's take a trip to the South end, we go West
Hit Reinert Ave and bust left
I'm in a funky-ass
this is motion towards, isn't it, boy?
B: (very anxious) Dative?
C: (draws his sword and holds it to Brian's throat)
B: Ahh! No, ablative, ablative, sir
Multiply that number by ten
You get a lot of answers
When you want a dildo in their ass
That's not for me
Boy sit down have a seat
Then add a wink I see your
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
(bang)
Crippin' like I should've been on Gangland
Purple bandana wrapped around my face, yeah
Big cake (guala) , big cake (guala)
Big cake (guala) , big
homeboys
Faked out fake hugs leave me alone boy
Plus the candy lookin' good enough to eat
You can tell by the way the girls actin' cross the street
But
[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
To the home girls sprung on the hum drum beat, check out Sir Mix-A-Lot Ray
His style is fresh, so clean and new, he pulls so many tricks
If you give him ten
to be defeated
By some freak mix of Shady friends
Who may try to make this beef stick
But any chance that my foot wont' snap off
Into their greasy ass,
Ima take your man just to show you that I can
Patty Cake Patty Cake
Ima take your man
Ima take your man just to show you that I can
Ima pretty ass boy
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
dance moves off my shelf
Young tamale, you're a hottie
The baddest out of Follies
Shake that cake like maraccas
Durty whine on it and mix it with
just so round, it's like, out there, I mean— gross. Look!
She's just so... black!
[Sir Mix-a-Lot]
I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers
seven-nine three one one)
With beepers
(Enter telephone number or numeric message
Press the pound key now)
[Sir Mix-A-Lot]
Pagers, call 'em what you
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
ain't ready
c Lot of men can't deal with women of my caliber
If you can't control her, bone her, own her then you mad at her
I walk by smelling like ylang
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 the South boy
That's how
I get the cake I get the cake boy
You niggas hate you bitches hate all you bitches fake boy
I need me a rafe a crib by the lake
Away from the snakes
ordering that 306
Milk and glaze is the greed gold mix me
Your bitch is coming along, yeah she hum to my song
Singing like they were for her, but they
sold out, turnin young hoes
Tell her baby, no doubt, stick this dick in yo' mouth
I smoked a lot of weed, I said a lot of rhymes
Always fucked up in
[ INTRO: Chris Rock ]
...All this ill shit
This fuckin Sir Mix-A-Lot shit
What the fuck is this shit?
See the shit's video?
'PUT IT ON THE GLASS!'
Let's do that again
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees sir
Yes sir
I think about money all day that's facts
Go and get that, get a little more
By night time man I'm up in
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