Mack Daddy Album

Artist(s): Sir Mix‐A‐Lot

Cover Art

Sir Mix‐A‐Lot Mack Daddy Cover Art

Tracklist

One Time’s Got No Case

length: 4:18
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Nate Fox

What you pullin' me over fo' mistuh offi-suh?
I'll be askin' the questions Leroy.
My name ain't Leroy, man.
Heh, all right Jerome, outta the car.
Man, why I gotta be Jerome man? Why can't I be Tommy or Philbert or something?
Just put your hands on the hood Muhammed

It's the man that you love to hate
Coming outta Washington state
Cops don't like my profile
'Cause Mixalot kicks much style
So the man is on my trail
He want to take Mix to jail
If he does, I'll make the bail
'Cause I know a lot of rich females
I'm shakin' 'em just like this
Keepin' that Porsche in fifth
King County cops don't quit
Even when a young brothers legit
So they follow me wherever I go
I hear 'em on the radio
With a scanner that I bought from the sto'
'Cause a brother like Mix gotta know
I'm checkin' them cops with radar
They don't believe I'm a rap star
That my brain is up to par
An I'm ready when they follow my car
I know they want to spray me with mace
'Cause my trunk keeps pumpin' much bass
But they best get outta my face
'Cause one-times got no case, give it to me

One-times got no case

The police think I'm movin' them keys
They trip cause I clock much D
They pull a gat an' they yell out "Freeze!"
I'm whippin' out my I.D.
My gat sits under my seat
The cops throw me out in the street
They found my gun like thieves
Officer Friendly has got a new beat
So I show him my gun permit
I told him I roll legit
Give me a test to see if I'm drinkin'
They claim my breath was stinkin'
They had me walk on the line
I walked backwards stopped on a dime
My female just reclines
'Cause she knows I know the time
I'm hip to the cop procedure
They get ya every time they see ya
They stop ya, they cuff ya
They roll ya an' they rough ya
They ask what I do for a livin'
Should this information be givin'?
This is what keeps me driven
Some cops want a brother in prison
So I got me a few attorneys
Just in case a cop want to burn me
They protect me from the state
'Cause one-time's got no case, break it on down

One-times got no case

A cop asks me "What's my name, and don't lie"
And I'm askin' officer "Why?
Why ya want to mess with a brother like Mix
When you know I'm livin' legit?"
The cop said "Don't get smart.
I tear soul-brother apart"
I said "Well take off your gun, if you want to get done
An' I'll show you that I ain't the one"
The cop rolled up his fist
Puts the handcuffs on my wrists
Then he threw a straight jab and he missed
A female cop pulls up and she's pissed
But this cop had K-9
A soul sister, yes she's fine
I said "Won't ya help a brother outta bind?"
But that badge was going to her mind
So she stuck a billy club in my back
She said "Don't think because you're black
That I won't beat you", crack, "hit you with the gat"
Her partner starts to laugh

Oooh, hit 'em again. Hit 'em again.

So they took me on down to the jail
P.L.B. came to pay my bail
Then we called Goldstein and Claire
Them's my lawyers
Walkin' up the stairs
To the courtroom dressed in suits
'Bout to give a couple cops the boot
So the female cop takes the stand
Took her oath with the wrong damn hand
My lawyers ate her up like catfish
The other cop pleads the fifth
She lost her job
I seen a few tears on her face
Sorry baby, one-time's got no case

Mack Daddy

length: 4:23
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest guitar family: Michael Powers
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
Mack Daddy
Ain't you tired of that gameless mark smackin' you in your face baby?
Mack Daddy
You better roll with the big mack, the man with the game
Mack Daddy
Gotta big snake, all you gotta do is make it dance, you know what I'm sayin'
Mack Daddy

I'm rollin' to another neighborhood
Me 'n my boyz, up to no good
Chasin' miniskirts 'n the ride is packed
Rollin' to a mall called SeaTac
Cruisin' 'n the cops don't like that
'Round the mall once 'n don't come back
Four-door Rolls with the black exterior
Turbo Bentley, white interior
A Rolls Royce fulla big black men
In the suburbs, messin' with citizens
Walkin' in the mall, looka how I spit
Sloppy dressed brothers make the females blitz
Big long starters, black low tops
Mack daddy hat got me lookin' like Pops
But that's cool, 'cause, I'm mackin' anyway
'N your females my prey
'N I'm callin' out skirts like Chuck D
Sista we missed ya, get wit' me
Comin', runnin, your boyfriends gunnin'
The big boss is so cunnin'
Some of my home boys hate me
They get a microphone, then try to take me
But you ain't slip, sayin' what's up Mix?
Boy I'm hip to your tricks

I'm the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Yeah ain't no reason to bet ya
'Cause I'm the Mack Daddy
Steadily mackin'
Mack Daddy

Kickin' in a buffed up Lamborgini
If your females proper she gots to see me
'Cause I'm the king of the roll outs
Mack Daddy is back still runnin' my mouth
I see a freak on the SeaTac strip
My Lamborgini's brakes get grip
So I pull up on to The Spot
I start frontin', 'cause I want to get jocked
Topped off the gas, whipped out my cash
'N one girls starts to laugh
But I'm still smooth
'N my game is on, so I make my move
Say, you in the white pants
I'm a step close to ya, but I won't dance
'N what you laughin' at
All the girls start pointin' at my hat
'N I'm a giggle wit' 'em, 'cause I just want to get wit' 'em
I don't hit 'em, I just want to stick 'em
So I pull baby girl to the side
She said she likes my car
I said take a ride
So we flipped up the doors on the Contach
But gettin' in a Lamborgini is hard
So I grabbed baby girl by the rear end
I thought she might need help gettin' in
So I clos' the do'
'N now you kno'
Mack Daddy is about to sco'
The girl said, baby you can have me
So I stopped at the tail
'Cause I'm the Mack Daddy

Mack Daddy
All you all gameless marks know
Mack Daddy
I'm the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Yew

I don't smoke no weed, but I like to G
I don't mean O.G., I mean sex baby
'Cause a brother like me don't date
I sling records 'n tapes
The Rhyme Cartel with the Def American
Gettin' brothers sprung like Farrakhan
'N I'm stuffin' my ladies pumps
In the backa my Benz I humps
I'm nasty 'n proud
To hell with cool, I'm G'in' 'em loud
Other people at the hotel gets no rest
'Cause Mixalots bumpin' them headrests
She got booty for days
Other brothers is pullin' up
But she ain't phased
'Cause I laid my game like a concrete slab
She's the kinda skirt a mack gotta have
Rollin', showin' her off
'N some fool tried to call me soft
He's in a one nine seven two skin head caddy
A old superfly mack daddy
So my girl stepped out 'n he tried to mack
But she ain't havin' that
You see your game is weak, G
My girl, I ain't slappin', I'm mackin'
'N rappin'

Mack Daddy
I'm the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
I'm the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Come over here and get some of this snake
Mack Daddy
I'm the Mack Daddy

Baby Got Back

length: 4:23
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest: Amy Dorsey
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
composer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
lyricist: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
Oh, my, God. Becky, look at her butt
It is so big, she looks like
One of those rap guys' girlfriends.
But, ya know, who understands those rap guys?
They only talk to her, because,
She looks like a total prostitute, 'kay?
I mean, her butt, is just so big
I can't believe it's just so round, it's like out there
I mean gross, look
She's just so, black

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, want to pull up tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I want to get wit'cha
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But with that butt you got makes (Me so horny)
Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin
You say you want to get in my Benz?
Well, use me, use me
'Cause you ain't that average groupie
I've seen her dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet,
Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette
I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas (Yeah) Fellas (Yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (Hell yeah)
Tell 'em to shake it (Shake it) Shake it (Shake it)
Shake that healthy butt
Baby got back (L.A. fits with the Oakland booty)

Baby got back (L.A. fits with the Oakland booty)

I like 'em round, and big
And when I'm throwin' a gig
I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal
Now here's my scandal
I want to get you home
And ugh, double-up, ugh, ugh
I ain't talkin' bout Playboy
'Cause silicone parts are made for toys
I want 'em real thick and juicy
So find that juicy double
Mix-a-Lot's in trouble
Beggin' for a piece of that bubble
So I'm lookin' at rock videos
Knock-kneed bimbos walkin' like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I'll keep my women like Flo Jo
A word to the thick soul sistas, I want to get with ya
I won't cuss or hit ya
But I gotta be straight when I say I want to ****
Til the break of dawn
Baby got it goin' on
A lot of simps won't like this song
'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it
And I'd rather stay and play
Cause I'm long, and I'm strong
And I'm down to get the friction on
So, ladies (Yeah) Ladies (Yeah)
If you want to role in my Mercedes (Yeah)
Then turn around, stick it out
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back

Baby got back
Yeah, baby, when it comes to females
Cosmo ain't got nothin'
To do with my selection
36-24-36
Ha ha, only if she's 5'3"

So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda
My anaconda don't want none
Unless you've got buns, hon
You can do side bends or sit-ups
But please don't lose that butt
Some brothers want to play that "hard" role
And tell you that the butt ain't gol'
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it
So Cosmo says you're fat
Well I ain't down with that
'Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the beanpole dames in the magazines
You ain't it, Miss Thing
Give me a sista, I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to dis
'Cause his girls are on my list
He had game but he chose to hit 'em
And I pull up quick to get wit 'em
So ladies, if the butt is round,
And you want a triple X throw down,
Dial 1-900-MIXALOT
And kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back!

Baby got back!

(Little in the middle but she got much back)
(Little in the middle but she got much back)
(Little in the middle but she got much back)
(Little in the middle but she got much back)

Swap Meet Louie

length: 4:32
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest: Amy Dorsey
guest guitar family: Michael Powers
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
Hey, homeys!
Who me?
Yeah, that's right. You the fly hustler.
Ya'll still sellin' that fake Louie, huh?
Hey! Don't be turnin' the high side up in here. You don't even got the dope
Oh, baby, I don't need the high side, just give me some khaki's and I'm straight
Tryin' dis me, ole raggy rooty-poot runned up gangsta? Who you think you are?
M.C. Hammer? You can't 'ford this Louis Vuitton!"
What you mean I can't afford it. Why would I want to afford some old fake Louie,
Baby if that's real Louie, I'm Tom Cruise.
Excuse me, I'd like to buy some.
You don't know jack about this Louie.
Take your sorry self over booth number 2 for the crack pipe
Yeah, alright. I got your crack pipe right here baby

Whoa, Louis Vuitton never made a sweatsuit
But you're swearin' up and down, that you got the Louie boots
So you roll to the swap meet, girlfriend buttless
Rip phantom top on your seven six Cutlass
In the shop Louis Vee is what you seek
Black Knight Cortez slippin' on your feet
You're saggin', droop like a bawla
Your girl starts walkin' towards the counter, so you call her
Ooh, this is on. Why don't you get this for me?
Every time you hit the swap meet, it's gimme, gimme, gimme.
A little old lady in the back starts to creep, she's deep
Through cazelley's she peeks
Her name is Mary Pong and she's got it going on
Swap meet weed, with the swap meet thongs
Leather miniskirt with the oriental draw
Little Mary Pong is RAW
She says "I want to make your girlfriend look good"
Start buying all your Louie in the hood
And your sprung, on the two for one
Fake Louie at the swap meet, son
Now you know brown Louie is played
But you're drunk and you just got paid
So you bought the gear, little Mary says "See ya"
Little did you know it was "Made in Korea?"

Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
That's right, tell em homeys
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
Right here baby
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
What you need?
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
You don't know jack about this Louie

Victim number two, a rich young couple from Bellvue
Welcome to the swap meet, another dumb couple 'bout to get beat
Out came little Mary Pong, she had the big Louie Vee gear on
The couple got sprung and the wife want some
Louie Vee hat with the diamonds
She's thinkin' she got that deal, two for one is a steal
The hat mighta had a L V on the back
But at the swap meet that ain't jack
But she bought it, cost about three hun
Mary Pong said you're the one
But when the girls Louie got wet she started complainin'
Baby girls Louie started fadin'
Now she's tryin' to take it back
But the swap meet don't play that
'Cause when a customer tries to intimidate
Mary Pong pulls a point three eight
She ain't about to get bum rushed
She's strapped an' she's ready to bust
But at the swap meet you don't pay tax
They're movin' out fake Louie by the batch

Swap Meet Louie, clockin' lotsa dolla's
Swap Meet Louie, we all got gold
Swap Meet Louie, black silk jackets
Swap Meet Louie, rich flaunt clout
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie

Me an' Attitude Adjuster stepped smooth at a swap meet
Buyin' much gear for the feet
When we spot Mary Pong with a blank face
Sellin' bootleg Mixalot tapes
The brother bought the tape and kept steppin'
Mary Pong starts lookin' for a weapon
I got a plan 'n' I'm about to use it
What's up with the bootleg music?
Mary Pong is about to get jacked
She had a stack of big bootleg racks
Me and Attitude creeped like snakes
Grabbed the tapes and the Louie and break
The whole swap meet went crazy
I'm sockin' more fools than Patrick Swayze
Toss a mess of fake Louie in the trunk
Hit the gas and the tach just sunk
Like that, I'm outta there
Swift brothers like to roll in pairs
So we jet, to the boulevard fast
Slingin' swap meet Louie for cash

Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
That's right, tell em homeys
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
Right here baby
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
What you need?
Swap Meet Louie, Swap Meet Louie
You don't know jack about this Louie

Seattle Ain’t Bullshittin’

length: 5:34
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
[Mix-A-Lot] Yo Attitude (talk to me)
[Mix-A-Lot] We got some bustin *** marks out here
[Mix-A-Lot] Claimin some **********in place they ain't never seen
[Attitude] Huh, sellout
[Mix-A-Lot] Boy this is the S-E-A-T-O-W-N, clown
[Attitude] Forever (Seatown)
[Attitude] Yeah, and that's from the **********in heart
[Attitude] So if you ain't down witcha hometown, STEP OFF PUNK
[Attitude] Mix, tell these fakes what the deal is

[Verse One: Sir Mix-A-Lot]
I was raised in the S-E-A-double T-L-E
Seattle, born in the C.D. *****
19th and yes LeBorda(?) pimpin was hard
Caddillac was the car I wanted
And I got that seven-seven Coupe with the trues and straps
I couldn't roll no hubcaps, huh, it wasn't easy
Tryin to compete, with my homies in the C.D.
Here's my plan, funky-*** sedan
Laid down with the vogues, money in my hand
Hair all whipped up
Carload full of freaks with the butts
I used to cruise around Seward Park
Flip the funky eighty-one, and La Vista
Lookin for freaks to be G'd
Most mini-skirts wanted please
In them days boy you had to be pimpin
Just to keep ************s from trippin
Now punks want to run up pokin
With a nine double-M, is you jokin?
Cause I'm packin - a HK-91 son
308's is what I run
A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn't
Huh, cause Seattle wasn't bullshittin

[Interlude: Attitude]
It ain't nothin but the real up in the Northwest (real deal *****)
So don't step to the 2-oh-6 tryin to kick up dust
Or you might get floored, sucka (get ****ED UP), think about it
This is from the Attitude Adjustor

[Verse Two: Sir Mix-A-Lot]
Do we got gangs? Hell yeah, brothers gotta get paid
Mickey D's ain't payin no way
So they take to the streets with gats
And they'll put 'em on ya just like that
So I'm undercover, when I'm rollin through the C.D.
A lot of *****z want to get me
I see a freak in front of Garfield, I swoop around the block
Gang of *****z yellin out, "**** Mix-A-Lot!"
Do I hate 'em? Naw, I gotta love 'em
They think my head is big, and I'm tryin to be above 'em
Huh, but to the masses I'm just another coon
Gettin paid for a little bit of boon
So even though a lot of *****z talk ****
I'm still down for the Northwest when I hit
the stage, anywhere U.S.A.
I give Seattle and Tacoma much play
So here's a shot to the Criminal Nation
And the young brother Kid Sensation
I can't forget Maharaji and the Attitude Adjustor
And the hardcore brothers to the West of Seattle
Yeah, Westside
High Pointe, dippin fo'-do' rides
And my homeboy Critical Mass in the back
With the bat to smack back all packs who try to jack me
Just because I'm in a S-E-see
Droptop A-M-G
The cops say Mix-A-Lot's a dope dealer
But I'm more like a dope deal sealer
I sell rap deals, not drug deals
Handin out contracts like meals
The Rhyme Cartel, I own the **********in label
And Ricardo got the papers on the table
And I'm signin 'em, just like that
No sluts so my pockets stay fat
A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn't
Huh, cause Seattle wasn't bullshittin

[Attitude] Huh, ***** this is MY town, what you talkin
[Mix-A-Lot] Punks tryin to tell me where I come from
[Mix-A-Lot] Who the **** you talkin to, clown?
[Attitude] Need to shut the hell up, Seattle Tacoma strong
[Mix-A-Lot] ****, you was a young lil' rudy poot ************
[Mix-A-Lot] 'fore you picked up a nine millimete
[Attitude] Who you smokin?
[Mix-A-Lot] Punk-***, cake, ****** *** *****!

[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-*** Porsche Gambala
No *****es, just women on my collar
S-E-A-T-O-W-N
Yo' ***** is back again
Huh, who you callin sellout fool?
I was puttin caps in clowns when you was still in school
But I choose not to talk about that
So many gangsta crews now, I'd rather kick back
So I drop my own style
**** bitin somebody else, and jumpin on a pile
But that's another subject, gettin back to the hood
Me and my boys is up to no good
A big line of cars, rollin DEEP through the South end
Made a left on Henderson
Clowns talkin **** in the Southshore parkin lot
Critical Mass is beggin to box
But we keep on goin because down the streets
A bunch of freaks in front of Reinert Beach, was lookin at US
They missed that bus, and they figured that they could trust us
Six cars in a line and the girls was fine
I had "The Wicked One" playin on my Alpine
Two Porsches, two Benzes, a Ferrari Testarossa
And a Rolls Royce roaster
Miami Vice tried to get with this, but they didn't
Huh-huh, cause Seattle ain't bullshittin

Yeah I want to whassup to my DJ Punish?
My boy Strange, across the water whassup LX?
Bookie, Mark P, MC Fury
The Group EQ, old forty ounce drinkin A.D.
Always Dangerous
PD2, Tribe, E.C.P. ready and willin
Nasty Ness and Glen Boyd
P.O.S., Brothers of the Same Mind
L.S.R., High Performance
Whassup Eightball? Kazzy D, Villains in Black
J-1, E-Dawg, my boy T-Mack
P.L.B., MC Kash
My boy with the hookup on the 'zoid freak coordinator
Bubba, DJ Skill and my boy are-10
Everybody in Seatown and T-Town!

Lockjaw

length: 4:20
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest turntable: Dave Ford
{Your silence is my trade}
Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}
Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}
Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}
I'm givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}

Here we go! Oh no,
Another flow show from the young black dynamo
Lockin' up jaws, MCs pause -
No lyrical flaws
Hush, when the boss is talkin'
Lay down gats and get your weak knees walkin'
You ain't allowed to speak 'cause you've reached your peak
The elite don't get with the weak
Shut up, 'cause I'm burnin' this cut up
Boy, don't try to run up
'Cause I chop up crops
A weak hip-hop boy tried to jock my spot and he flopped
He went down to the concrete ground
I'm a hound when I get down
And I'm back, the mack with a lyrical knack
To pack sacks and never pay tax
And when I leave they diss me
Knowin' they can never get with me
But he who laughs last gets the most cash
And lives the blast past of rap trash
Gone! Left ya, son
Gimme a call when you're done
Your silence is my trade, shut up!
{Your silence is my trade}

2x:
Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}
Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}

Run, run, run, your time is done, son
Move out for the well-hung young one
And I'm rackin' up stacks of greenbacks -
Dead presidents, black!
Peace to my fans and I love ya
And I got yo' cover
'Cause I'm back to please
And cool off the hot MCs
'Cause they're runnin' around like ants, tryin' to grab their pants
That **** don't make you dance!
What's this beat doin'?
Leavin' your posse ruined
Stuck my fist in his mouth
Caught him on a whole shout
No pity on the lyrically weak
Face defeat, retreat, but don't speak
'Cause I ain't through, fool
And you ain't true to the Mix rules!
You try to flow so you go for what you know
But yo, bro, you ain't the flow pro
(Ohh!) I can't go slow
Gotta grow 'cause I want to get mo' dough
Full blown, bad to the bone
And known to get it on with a microphone, homes
Leave my throne alone
I've been to the low zone
Your silence is my trade, shut up!
{Your silence is my trade}

2x:
Lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}
Givin' MCs lockjaw! (Shut up!) {Your silence is my trade}

Come on, Punish!
Punish!


Your host on the coast is known to boast
And roast most that choose to get close
Put 'em in a lyrical knot
My spot: the number one slot
But I gotta have beats
When I lyrically de-feat the weak that try to compete
Get 'em up, if you want to go head-up
What up? Do as I instruct, black
'Cause my gat is jack-backed
And lookin' at your baseball hat
I rolled over that mess you stole
And took control, and then broke the mold!
Now here I stand, boss man
The NorthWest tip is where I am
And I'm runnin' this work like dope
Shippin' it in planes, trains and boats
Up the charts I go
Steppin' on toes and throwin' low bolos
My group is large, and hard
No need for a bodyguard
We flex, rippin' off MCs' necks
Run 'em into Critical's pecs
Your silence is my trade, shut up!

2x:
Lockjaw! {Your silence is my trade}
Givin' MCs lockjaw! {Your silence is my trade}

Come on, Punish!
Punish 'em!
Punish!
Punish 'em!

Lockjaw!
Givin' MCs lockjaw!
Lockjaw!
Givin' MCs lockjaw!
Lockjaw! Shhh

The Boss Is Back

length: 4:16
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Nate Fox
{Boss}
{Boss}
We have such sights to show you
This isn't for your eyes...
AaaAAAA, the boss is back!
{Boss}
The boss is back!
{Boss}
{Boss}

So I took a one-year hiatus
Ain't nobody heard my latest
You thought Mix-a-Lot was through
But I'm back; this boot's on you
What happened to all the old homies?
When the money gets funny it's lonely
My ex turned into a slut
Down at the Hollywood, slangin' that butt
Cheap perfume and a mini-skirt
Girl, what's your line of work?
Now that I'm rollin', you want to roll with me
But have you been to the clinic lately?
Yesterday you had six condoms, see
Today you got three
Tossed you out like a paper sack
This brother ain't Sprung On The Cat
What about all the old homies?
I got paid so they call me phony
But I refuse to lay it low,
When a brother like you tells me I can't flow?
So here we go, bro, the leader of the Flow Show
Let you know, I roll and get mo'
I yank the bank and I ain't been ganked
Cause my back you're trying to shank, but no thanks!
My face shows pain and strain as I stand in the rain
With this fame, you go insane
The game I run is not fun to some,
And now I love no one!
The boss is back!

{Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!} I'm back!
Your boss is back!
{Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!}
{Big boss in effect, I ain't bluffin'!}

Tommy wants revenge
But I want your oxygen
When the game got thick you ran
Now in my face you stand
Beggin' for a few hun?
Son, your fun meets my gun!
Now you scream you're true black
Boy, you need to chill with that!
Cause I'm an e-qual op-por-tu-ni-ty de-stroyer
My gat's my lawyer
Last week you's a stick-up kid
And this week you're in show biz
Standin' on stage, another black want to-be
want to get paid, so you're as balck as you gotta be
Throw up a peace sign, fakin' the rhymes
Run out of lyrics, scratch in a Malcom X line
Hypocrite, your hits break the bits
The boss of brain lays pain when I spit
Criticized, cause I'm takin' the dares
And now you're tryin' to tell another brother what to wear?
Come off that tip, you know how it goes
Another brother gets shot and punks blame it on gold
Gold ropes? Naw, that ain't your problem
The job of a rapper is to find em and solve em
Now you're crying bout what a brother owns
King died so you could buy your throne
I ain't got time to take steps in reverse
You or the KKK, who's worse?
You told me to stay low in my ghetto
And so did the Klan, so wake up, bro
Why do you think brothers is sellin' dope, fool?
America, boy, the bankroll rules!
Play that hard role and say you ain't with that
And everything you're cryin' bout money on your contract
Talked about me bad, it's time for the payback, black,
The boss is back!

{Boss} I'm back.

I don't know the meaning of trust
I gotta live so I do what I must
Some girls'll cross you when you're soft
That's why I'm my own damn boss
They'll run you down with stress
If you're spring on the butt and chest
I'd rather be sprung on the ducat
And put another damn freak in my bucket
I deal with women, not girls
Cause them young ones'll shake your world
I'm tellin' it like it is
Cause a brother like Mix ain't losin' his
I got about two or three clowns
That try to kick me when I'm down
But when I come up, they all play dumb
All of a sudden, it's we, not one
I zip up lips when I spit these hits
I'm equipped to make misfits quit
Young bucks should all duck cause jaws are gettin' struck
The luck gets chuched, so wussup!
I ram and cram my jams in the mouth of a man
I'm kickin' quicker than Van Damme
Face the facts, two platinums stack
Step off, fool, or get cracked!
The boss is back!

{Who's the boss?}
I'm back!
{Who's the boss?}
The boss is back!
{Who's the boss?}
{Who's the} {Boss}

Testarossa

length: 5:09
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Strange
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 **** 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
Ba

A Rapper’s Reputation

length: 5:03
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Strange
I'm rollin' in a Nine-Oh van. California, that's my plan
Got memories Mixalot 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 'cause 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 want to 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 Mixalot 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.

Sprung on the Cat

length: 4:31
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Strange
Brothers, we've messed over our sisters for years
(Years and years)
I said for years
But now we're being messed over
I said now we're being messed over
You done fell in love with the cat
You know what I'm talking about "The Cat"
It'll get ya

Meow, meow, the cat will get ya
If you let it get wit' ya
Some brothers want to spend a lot a money
Just to get a little honey
But the honey gets runny when the money's funny
'Cause I'm hipped an' a brother like Mix don't slip
'Cause them girls will put that cat right on ya
And don't say I didn't warn ya
Go down to the beach
See the girls in bikini's
Wonder why you don't see me, brothers (yeah)
Should I preach (preach, preach)
Alright, back to the beach
A O-G from the hood
Went down to the beach but his game was weak
Met a sweet thing named Yolanda
She had the go mo-mo's on her brand new Honda
So my boy stepped up with a gangsta pitch
Better come on an' get wit' dis
A forty-dog in his hand and he's saggin'
But pretty soon the cat's go and tag him
Later that night, Yolanda got busy in the back
Of his big black Cadillac
The next day, the O-G wasn't playin' no ball
'Cause he took her to the mall
Buyin' everything from skirts to boots
Oh, speakin' a boots, yeah he knocked 'er boots
But in the end another fool got jack
'Cause he was sprung on the cat

Sprung on the cat, check it out

There's a brother named Dave in a Corvette
Had a job at the U-P-S
I ain't dissin' 'cause U-P-S pays money
But Dave wants to kick it with the honeys, huh
He shoulda got 'em a girl 'n' settle down
But Dave wants to get around
Put the top down on the 'vette
Hit the south side of Seattle
Lookin' for sex
Got a full pack of Sea grams under the seat
And boom, there it is three freaks
Thick, walkin' with a natural switch
And Dave starts getting that itch, huh
You know a 'vettes only got two seats
But Dave wasn't listening to me
All three of them jumped in the car
Hit Red Lobster and went straight to the bar
But them drinks ain't cheap out there son
Five dollars for one of them daiquiris
And Dave was treatin'
And the girls was sure 'nuff eatin'
Two hundred dollars worth of fish
And Dave wants to make a little wish
A little something that he'd seen in a porno movie
Play B-B-D and said do me
At Dave's house they left him in a cold sweat
He gave 'em the keys to the 'vette
Ooh, that's the wrong move, black
You must be sprung on the cat

Sprung on the cat
Sprung on the cat
Old girl named Joyce tried to put that cat on me two weeks ago
You mean she DID put that cat on you, you're talkin' to
Attitude, be straight with me man

I'm cruisin' incognito
Eight fifty I with the smoked out windows
An' I'm thinkin' I'm raw
When it comes to girls I done seen it all
Then along came a girl named Joyce
She had a black Corniche Rolls Royce
At the stop sign she did something with her tongue
Could Mix be sprung?
Her cat was calling me
And I started rolling slowly
Pulled up to the bumper
'Cause I wants to thump her
So she pulls up into Texaco
And I roll up slow and jump in the Rolls
Now I'm checkin' out the body
This hotty gotta body 'n' I want to get naughty
Followed her to the motel
Yes, motel, I'm too cheap for a hotel
Room deuce deuce deuce and it's time to get loose
I dipped in the juice
So what's up with the Rolls
Checked the registration
And the Rolls was stole
Baby girl tried to break with my keys and gat
But I ain't sprung on the cat

Don't pet the cat, if you just met the cat
If you're sprung on the cat
You might as well eat the cat
Sprung on the cat
Sprung on the cat
Maharaji over there all quiet
I think Maharaji be eatin' the cat
How 'bout Attitude Adjuster
Attitude, you eatin' the cat or what?
I think it's Critical Mass
Critical Mass be suckin' on that cat
Yo, P-L-B I know you eatin' somethin'
Me? What you snackin' on?

The Jack Back

length: 4:56
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest: “The Wicked One”
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
"In this country a man's home is his castle"

I've been jacked by the racist scum, and here I come
Klan, run 'cause revenge is fun! And I'm that one
To make you tap dance with a shotgun
On Donahue they said they had weapons
Just to teach black people one lesson
But I ain't goin' to your school of fools
So come here, and look at my tools!
You can meet and greet the Glock 19 in your nostrils
I'll splatter your dreams
Plans to overthrow are left in limbo
'Cause one loco bro chose to dispose of you
And your skinhead crew
I ain't a house ***** with a twenty-two
I dump a hollow-point slug in your windpipe
Try to breathe believe the hype
'Cause this ain't the jungle fool
And I don't throw spears, and I ain't leavin' here!
A Nazi and you ain't never seen Germany
But you was lookin' for a enemy
So you found a young brother with cash
Crashed my glass, snatched my whole stash
Boy I'ma getcha back, like it ain't no thang
Show you what I learned from the gangs
Stack 'em up deep in a six-nine Deuce
Long range scopes for the whole damn group
Hangin' outside a club called Moonshine
Waitin' for the right time
There he is, walkin' in the Levi's blue cut
The Wicked One dropped two shots in his butt
I can't solve racism with a gat
But this is where my head's at get 'em with a jack back!

"You ask me the ******s around here
been treated awful bad for a long time"

I've been sayin' this, I gotta fix 'em
I want to fix 'em with a crucifixion
Nail 'em to a cross and burn 'em
Burn 'em burn 'em burn 'em!
It's been said that this would happen
Skanless skinheads jackin
All up in the crib insult for takin' my force
I had to break North
The leader had a spraypaint can
And on my wall wrote, 'Death to the black man'
Burned a cross in front of the hideout
Hopin' they could get my race to die out
I'ma 'cause 'em pain, physical and mental
I speak slowly through the temple
The Wicked One is talkin' trouble
Blastin' skulls into pieces of puzzle
Damage 'em so bad, they can't stop me
Not enough body left to get an autopsy
Skinheads, stakin 'em out
Bloodshed, takin' 'em out
Caught one of 'em, Mix said, "Go ahead"
Thirty-eight, straight to his forehead
I hit 'em hard and it hit the spot
I punish and plot with Mix-a-Lot
Now where's the leader at? Gotta get him back
Gotta get the gat, gotta get the axe
Call it a revengeful murderous pact
Call it the jack back!

"Some things are worth killing for"

They burned a cross in my yard, caught a brother off guard
But I can't cry, 'cause I'm hard!
They jacked another black, but this black wants payback
I rack up killin' stats!
Now I'm on the hunt with a 12-gauge pump
Massive hardware's in my trunk
Creepin' low and slow
There's one roll down the window
What's up, fool?! ("No!") buck buck buck
It ain't done til the punk stops breathin',
Watch Kunta Kinte get even!
It goes like that when a brother stays strapped
Couldn't get a job so I learned to rap
Livin' kinda large and the skinheads hate me
Run up in my house and they tried to take me
Now I got the metal to his dome
A Desert Eagle, dipped in chrome
I got a black stocking cap yanked over my face
Anger is takin' rationality's place
Hitler's in the house and I'm takin' him out
He shouts but the barrel's in his mouth
Before I shoot, he wants to know if I'm white or black
I yank my mask this has been a jack back!

"These boys were trained activists"

I'm not a slave but the Ku Klux Klan
And the Aryan Nation say I am!
What's behind the skinheads out to getcha?
The reincarnation of Hitler
Now I got a murderous attitude
I'm in a put 'em in a casket mood!
Remember the days of slavery?
They hung many black men from a tree
We fought to be free real hard
And the black man's freedom must not be scarred!
Callin' me an African Sambo
But after this, "American Psycho"
And I'll smoke any skinhead racist
With the black glock that's in my fist
And the morgue'll be packed in body stacks
Memories due to the jack back
Caught the leader of the skinhead clan
You know the one with the spray paint can
Drilled him with a crowbar die!
In the left ear, out the right eye
Then I took a knife to his chest
Carved a wicked message in a bloody mess
It was a warning for the rest of his pack
"This ***** got him with a jackback!"

I’m Your New God

length: 4:44
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
guest guitar family: Michael Powers
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
co-producer: Strange
What's wrong, sweetheart?
Don't you want me?
You paid for me. kneel to me.
Smoke me. breathe me. inhale
Ha ha ha ha ha ha, I'm your new god.

She's only sixteen, she looks lost
Bought crack from the dopeman, and got tossed
Livin' on the streets, smoked out
Perfect individual for me to bust out
You can sniff me, or you can puff me
But the girl shoulda known, you can't trust me
She's only ninety eight pounds and lonely
She calls to her god for help, and that's me
Cocaine, go ahead n' use me, heh heh
Momma won't know you're a junkie
Just put me in your pipe, light and suck
Cluck cluck cluck!
And while you're high, grab a twelve gauge
Jump back on the streets, in a crack rage
The only way out is the suicide route
Put the gauge at your dome and take it out
Now I'm on the six o'clock news
All my movies get the rave reviews
60 Minutes had a special on me
The god called crack is killin' your society
Colombia is where I get picked
I can kill with a ninety-ten split
I work through the week, my pleasure is pain
And I'm your new god
You can call me cocaine

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Cocaine
Heh heh heh
Go ahead n' smoke me

Brothers throwin' up a set to protect me
I'm worth a lot so money so respect me
Doin' damage on the boulevard, just like that
Shoot 'em over crack
Dope dealers would kill for me
'Cause if ya sell me, I help ya live lovely
You want a Porsche? move a few ki's
Just remember that your god is me
The task force bum rushed one of my employees
A big score, twenty three keys
Now ya see another dopeman sink
And one young cop on the brink
The cop's thinkin' bout pinchin'
And alimony checks to his wife for the rent and
Kids, so the profit is slow
And he wants to make his bankroll grow
Twenty three just sittin in the back seat
I can make the best man weak
So the cop hits the streets to sell a little pain
Now the cop has a god
You can call me cocaine

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Cocaine
Smoke this
Smoke it
Smoke it

The only way I can be stopped is with intelligence
And you don't get it, so that's irrelevant
So you die, or else go to jail
And I'm happy as hell
I tried to get a young kid but he just said no
Because of some sports hero
So I entered the hero's house in the form of a line
And let him snort one time
Now he'd dead, cause my dose was pure
Got him too quick for the cure
So the headlines read, "dope made another hit"
Dead on the first sniff
Now the kid is lookin' for another hero
I let him know the other fool was a zero
He hits the streets, lookin' for a remedy
They introduce him to me
I don't need another junky, just a flunky
Besides, the little punk was spunky
So I put him in a fresh pair o' Dickies
Give him a beeper, and let him terrorize the city
Put him in a gang, teach him to slang
Another young punk deep in the game
He'll be lucky if he lives til' eighteen
And I'm his new god
You can call me cocaine

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Cocaine
Go ahead n' use me
Smoke me
Hm hm hm hm hm hm

No Holds Barred

length: 4:05
producer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
mixer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
engineer: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
arranger: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
programming: Sir Mix‐A‐Lot
"the police, urge people, to keep their guns locked up and unloaded"
"congress today, seems on the verge of approving gun control"

It's, time to fight back cause the new jack black macks
Ain't did **** about that, whack, jackin'
And I'm packin'
'Cause I'm down for the bank I'm stackin'
And in a straight up brawl I'll mall alla y'all
Ya try to crawl for Tylenol and I install
Big fists in your face, the blow is well placed
Spray 'em with mace in case mace is his taste
Throw up the dogs, the competition is fogged
'Cause he was smokin' the yang, iced and drink the 8-ball
Drunk, stumblin', threw him with the lean
I sweep him, then attack the spleen
Play the congas on his backbone
He's funk baritone until I twisted his dome
Creep up on my house and try to roll me up?
And got stuck in the gut with a black, Glock
And he starts to wobble
Self-defense is what I'm claimin', let's squabble
I pick up a pipe to take plenty of quick swipes
One grazed his dome and sliced his eye whites
I don't give a damn bout a stupid *** burglar
It's all circular
The dope dealer sells dope to the dope smoker
The smoker breaks in and tries to choke ya
But I ain't the one to run from ya son
This is my house, and it's fulla guns!
I'm down for mine and my choke is nice and hard
When you jack the boss there ain't no holds barred!

No holds barred
No holds barred
No holds barred

I'm crushin' most hoods like katie-dids(?)
I'm pleadin' guilty for the damage I did
This ain't about random violence
The (?) crept into my house, **** silence
Now most punks want to run for the stun gun
**** a stun gun, I got the big one
Forty-four mag, automatic, chrome
Mercury-tipped bullets, melt the dome
It's the 1990's, and crack is
Talkin' to the criminals, ever so subliminal
Some crackhead wants mix-a-lot dead
A jack move instead, another fool bled
I can't cry cause my tears are nearly froze
My interior's cold, it possess my soul
I'm on the paranoid tip
And each of my socks got a clip!
When my house got robbed, a top notch job
Cops laughed while my mom just sobbed
9-1-1 only works for the rich ones
So I collect guns!
So step right through if you're down for the wrong move
Most crews are moved by my twelve gauge boom!
How can I love when I gotta
Protect my neck from a punk suspect?
Gun control - I ain't wit it
They banned the AK and any fool can still get it
The innocent have been beaten, bruised and scarred
But for this citizen, there ain't no holds barred

"it is an absolute infringement on my second amendment rights"
No holds barred
"when is this attack on gun owners going to end?"
No holds barred
"education, versus restriction"

Hypothetical situation
Gun control starts sweepin' the nation
Now you got a bunch of unarmed innocent victims
Gettin' ****ed by the system
Sittin' at home with a butter knife, huh
Any fool could rape your wife
So what's up when the criminals can't be stopped?
The only one with guns are the cops
But it's hard for a brother to trust police
Huh, so the **** don't cease
So I go downtown to buy a hot gun
I hated criminals, and now I'm one
Because I bought a gat to protect my house
The cops want to bust me out?
So it's illegal to protect yourself?
Hell, you either get killed, or you in jail
So when you vote
You better think about what I just wrote
And **** writin' a note to yo' congressman!
You got the fool hired
Now help get the fool fired
A scary scenario
And I put it in your stereo
So when a fool tries to run up on my car
R.i.p., no holds barred

No holds barred

No holds barred

"They take aim, at the law abiding citizen, instead of the criminal"