Sir Mix-a-lot - You Can't Slip Lyrics
Verse 1: sir mix-a-lotYou can't slip, 'cause the pimpin' game is not about the sexYou gots to be a businessman to keep them thangs in checkI used to run some call girls and pimp 'em just for funBut you should see how the gangsters can make us pimps r-r-run!Back in '82 i used to roll a gold caddyFemales were my business, you could call me the mack daddyBut pimpin' came so easy to me, i didn't have to hit 'emRoll 'em up to canada so johnny's could wit 'emShow them fake id's so we could step across the borderWe hit the nearest hotel, and like that, i'm takin' ordersTwo thousand dollars and she'll make you lose your moralsWe must increase the profit if the trick wants to get oralRappers like to claim 'bout how they know the pimpin' gameHow can you run the ladies when you're only 17?I speak from experience when i say "turn around!"'cause i was rollin' heavy 'till one female took me downShe was only 17 but she was lookin' 215'9", street-tough and packin' gunsBut i was slippin' 'cause the pimpin' game was softBaby took a trick out to the suite so he could toss911 is flashin' crazy on my pagerI pushed the trunk button and i load the 12 gaugeBack to the 'tel 'cause i'm down to get my mailSmoke a trick quick if he's beatin' on my femaleKickin' down the door and ain't nobody in the suiteI never let my agents take them tricks out on the streetIf i wasn't slippin' then the psycho couldn't kill herBody found face down, floatin' in the green riverYou can't slip! not in this pimpin' game, chief!No no, you can't slip!You can't slip.Yo e-dog, tell them what's up with that slangin' and bangin', chief!Verse 2: e-dog (mix-a-lot)You can't slip when you're rollin' through the hood without your strap (hellNo!)Especially when your rims are dipped in gold and lookin' phat (yeah!)'cause it's the 1990's and you got to be preparedOr a nigga like the e'll roll 'em up and keep 'em scared (huhh??)High sightin' nigga rollin danks through my set (don't do it!)Drops 6-4, gives my homies no respect (none!)But when we starts the loc'in' up, the fool will start the chokin' upAnd bones are gettin' broken up, a jack move! (give it up!)A straight jack on a fella with a fat sackComin' out missin' when you're slippin' on the fast track (yeah!)Came through servin' but you went out gettin' served (peace!)Got you for your daytons then we beat you to the curb (huh!)Now it's time to slang them thangs and come up on a grip (yeah!)Trade him for some ounces so that i can clock my chips (get paid!)Say it's 'bout the dividends and not about the fame (yep!)But 'till i let you know, the e-d-o-g is my name (word.)So now i'm straight addicted to the jackin' and the slangin'Cross court saggin' and my flag shows i'm bangin'But if you think i'm gonna stop this life, well you're wrong!I don't care about your muscles 'cause my 9 is pluggin' domes (ha ha!)So here we go again, another jack in effect (yeah!)A candy-painted blazer chased the driver, make him wreck (get him!)And if he tries to run then i just smoke him on the spotBut little do i know, there's a lesson to be taughtThe brother pulled an ak and now i'm yellin' "mayday!"*gunshots* ("oh shit, he got e-dog!") on the concrete i lay!He walks up slowly, then he looks me in my eyeBarrel to my temple, so i know i'm gonna die!(lil' cake-ass gang nigga, you can't jack for these d's! see ya!)*gun *****ing, shot* (c'mon, let's go, nigga!) *sirens*(shouldn't have been a sucka, nigga!) *door closing*(punk mother*****er!! yeah!) *car skids off*You can't slip.You can't slip. oh, you better pull them pants up, champ. huh huh.You can't slip. gots to be a gangsta, huh?Well, you can't slip!*creepy organ music*Yeah, a lot of young brothers is constantly tellin' me how they growin'.Well, i'm just tryin' to tell you where you're goin'.You can't slip. peace.
