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Sir Mix-A-Lot Miscellaneous A Rapper's Reputation I'm rollin' in a Nine-Oh van. California, that's my plan Got memories Mix-A-Lot left in limbo, first stop Sacremento Here we go, hit a club called Bentleys Want a skirt to git wit' me, hit me There's a girl with a back like a Cadillac I walked up and got pushed back Her boyfriend tell her I'm a play-a Dropped salt on a dope rhyme say-a My reputation offends this man Next day hit Williamland Park Creepin' like a shark Spot a bad freak and I swoop like a hawk "What up?", "Howya like to roll wit' a champ?" "Please! All ya'll rappers is tramps" My reputation is stoppin' my mission Every freak in Sac is dissin' Back on the four lane freeway Next stop, the two-one-three, L.A. The two-one-three is rough But the Mixalot game is tough Spot a young girl and I start that gamin' Baby girl asks what set am I claimin' "Just cuz I rap, I gotta be in gang?" It ain't a black thang, it's a rap thang Censorship is sweepin' the nation Messin' up a rap stars reputation A rappers reputation, that's what I got So I'm finished with the two-one-three I knock, baby, but it's time to leave Two days on the hard rock, boys is cruisin' Interstate Ten, straight to Houston They tell me 'bout the girls in the fifth ward You know the boys must score So we hit a fly club called Guchies Lookin' for the skirts with the largest booties Girlies in the club wasn't takin' no shorts Showin' no remorse For a brother like Mix, lookin' for the smooth Didn't need a Houston skirt to get with me But the nights still young And the hunk ain't done So we stepped to the van Attitude's out of it The next club, The Main Event We never think about a dress code Just step up in the club and let the game roll But as soon as my boy Maharaji pulls up Some punk starts runnin' up He said you don't wanna be with a rap star They play you for your money and your car Well my boy got crushed but the girl stepped off With a rap stars rep, the girls are lost "Hey yo, what's up, this is Mix I had to make a run right quick, but leave your name and number 'n I'll getcha right back, peace." So the posse left Houston Texas All the girls keep callin' us sexist Houston media is givin' us rappers no pity So we all hit Kansas City In K.C. we go The Gates and Suns Gotta get grub 'fore we run Met a little freak named Stacy I said I'm not just here for the Barbecue baby She gave me that look, like Pebbles I'm acked with bass not treble So I say, Oogley-goo oogley-doo-goo-doo "What'd you say?" I ain't tellin' you You see the Mix game is laced with riddles It ain't moaney, it's Mix in the middle In walked my ex named Wendy She got a fresh Dooney Bag 'Cause she's tired of Fendi Oooh, could a brother be busted Because Wendy trusted, Me? An' ah told a lit'l lie 'n Said I was a loyal guy Wendy got mad and she wants to dis me In Kansas City Wendy starts to groovin' Hands on her hips and her hair starts movin' She said the Mix-A-Lot game is phony Just 'cause I said I'm runnin' girls like ponies But talkin' that stuff is my occupation That's how I got this reputation A rappers reputation, got a rappers reputation Bring it on down. A rappers reputation, bring it back A rappers reputation, that's what I got. A rappers reputation, peace. |
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