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Sir Mix-A-Lot Miscellaneous Testarosa I'm your Testarosa. First gear Watch me go, keep 'em in fear Rumble, young man rumble Brother won't fumble, muthafukas just crumble Gaskets crank, rappers get spank Stripes get yank, a superior rank Won't stop the jock in some American car use a lyrical radar But I'm rolling, the cartel's tolling For the D's keep folding Most Cadillac rappers get look and disturb By the jet black blur Me, the Testarosa running like it suppose ta Don't try to get closer Cause you might get lost in the dual exhaust Don't ever try to fuck wit' a boss High octane there ain't no ping When I swing on a lyrical speed king And that's just first gear, listen for the upshift Who can get wit' this I'm your testarosa Second gear, look it here queer I'm in here, hitting like spears The rhyme cartel slings legalized dope Some cope, others get (gunshot noises) Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless 12 cylinders listen to the horses It accelerates smooth Move or else get move Run for cover my brother, suckers are getting smothered I ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutter My rep is kept, muthafukas must step The best get swept and let out to rest Huuuu, look at that air intake Second gear, passing fakes Revolution per lyric get higher How can I chill when my rhyme's on fire As I approach the end of my tach My lyrical horse power blows to the max Red line is reached to the peak of my speech And I told ya, I'm your Testarosa Testarosa Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em up Keep 'em all down on these young bucks Let 'em know big boss is just a bit quicker Get the picture Backtalk tolerated none, son Left you at the gun when I hit gear one Now I'm in third and you think that's quick Huh, wait till I hit fifth Me and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacks You said fat now I'm yo to the max Want Mix-A-Lot for your next attack Hey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gat Two hundred sixty pounds of pure pain Critical mass is my homeboy's name My personal trainer, taking weight gainer Got the bulk to crush and contain ya On the tach, I'm like a wind ax Cutting up air like Boeings aircraft Time to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold ya I'm your Testarosa Up to fourth gear, the speed increase Police got beef wit the word chief Move or lose, I excuse the wack dudes You light my fuse and clear out or get used I go 100 in a 55 No need to lip synch, I'm straight out live So I'm rough lust who wanna be tough You fuss and cuss wearing that Raider's stuff Fake fools from around the way Knowing damn well, you ain't from LA Ashamed where you come from son, so you rattle Like it or not, I scream straight up Seattle Rip up streets wit a lyrical sweet Don't peep or creep or you lose your freak The cam's growl, engine loud My tongue keep beating 'em down Rev it up, get ready for fifth Just hit 'em wit a maximum dis I roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control ya And I'm your Testarosa I'm your Testarosa Yo Punish, show 'em what time it is Gear number five, you're eyes get wide So realize that I survive and I rhyme for mine I rope the dope and is he coming up, nope I ain't the joke so don't hope for my throat There it is, the whiz gets his The word quiz is what it is and Mix don't give Sight to the wack who act like Max And try to jack a pop rap to hit the map That ain't like me, it ain't cool To rob another fool them claim you rule You boot but not me, troops, you like juice So you hit the stage wearing my boots Uh ,uh cupcake, I ain't about to get rape by fake Just look at the tail light shrink and then think How I left you pink in a lyrical kink Time to drop to my gears and then stop 'Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jock Turbo cone is 230 up on ya I'm your Testarosa (3x) |
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