Lyrics:
I is, certified fifty, nifty
Won't it be one hella've sight to try an get me
Sticky as a gasimist, I be leavin clits with hickeys
English go over
as the rain
Yeah
The song is by some groovy cats
If you can dig
The cats, you can dig the song
Yeah, I can really dig how these cats get down with
to roll
I got the strap by the seam of my clothes
Show a lil nigga this cutta on me not even his beef but his mans get expose
Putting down pressure you
I is, certified fifty, nifty
Won't it be one hella've sight to try an get me
Sticky as a gasimist, I be leavin clits with hickeys
English go over
collapse
Romeo makes me melt
melt melt melt
We can rebuild a story bring your pieces
Mix them all with mine
We can rebuild a story bring your pieces
Mix them
hurt his balls on that play, Tony. Don't you? He's holding
Them. He must've hurt them, by God." and the other 2-way word that
Goes with that one is Prik.
anyways
So you ain't takin’ that notice
The sun rise by the day, he play
I’m bussin’ his dome boom, baow
I mix that flame with that rock
Put that pain
world
Break me like the open chord you're playing
I don't wanna hear a word you're sayin
Read you like a sign with the broken letter
Welcome post modern
to do, aw, now I'm sniffing
Sorry, kid, I'm not a therapist or uplifting
Nefarious instead, with a fire for a head
I was seven eighty six when I put you
love to thee, there'll be none of me
You'll leave me with none of me
Not even one of me
Blurb
Here is a collection of poems by the Russian poet and engineer Konstantin Voskresenskiy, who is known to Russian and English-speaking audiences
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
I was using her, piece by broken piece
That Modern English tune
When I used to melt with you
I knew it was the end
The night I caught you, caught you
pound three pounds four
All it takes is seven pounds of pressure for it to blow
855 grams worth of Glock weight
And I heard the bigger you are, the harder
type shit
I canceled her, kick her out the stu' type shit
A silent hitter, I just keep it cool with you bitches
A solid nigga, countin' dog food type
whole day
I missed the joke
You burn the rice make your wish
I'll do the bread mix it with ice
What's ya risk you give me blink
Aya mean
جور منو ماس
eight it goes
Brooklyn, from the seven one eight it goes
BK is you wit me New York City
Everywhere else you can suck up my titties
Eat a Big Mac and go
this green
I guess Roman's abrasive
Gold doubloons, what I'm paid with
All my papers got faces
Cotton-Linen, what a great mix!
Tell me how you're gonna
're taught when you come to school.
Lesson 1, you should know:
Never fall in love, with your ho.
Lesson 2 tells you to do only one thing:
Act cool.
Lesson
All we want is the money
I keep em' bro.
Wake up one morning, and, with some money
To spend, they go crazy.
I'm going to tell you a story in
through
But anyone can see my new celebrity is you
I've sung with Ethel Merman (5)
Swung with Woody Herman (6)
Played a gig in Germany with Ogerman (7) too
it's tantamount
To classics now
My pedigree's ahead of me
Young graduate with caps and gowns
I utilize my English
In pursuit of my relinquished soul
They
dollar stealth bomber fails to fly successfully
And you say I should be proud of this song
Think about it AMERICA!
Verse One: Sir Mix-a-Lot
I
a island boy
But you ain't walk out the house
With no sneakers on
Hawaiian made for the drink
Seven Eleven only thing I eat
Please do not judge
By the way
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