Sir Mix-A-Lot You Can't Slip Lyrics:
Verse 1: Sir Mix-a-Lot You can't slip, 'cause the
pimpin' game is not about the sex You gots to be a
businessman to keep them thangs in check I used to
run some call girls and pimp 'em just for fun But
you should see how the gangsters can make us pimps
r-r-run! Back in '82 I used to roll a gold Caddy
Females were my business, you could call me the
Mack Daddy But pimpin' came so easy to me, I
didn't have to hit 'em Roll 'em up to Canada so
Johnny's could wit 'em Show them fake ID's so we
could step across the border We hit the nearest
hotel, and like that, I'm takin' orders Two
thousand dollars and she'll make you lose your
morals We must increase the profit if the trick
wants to get oral Rappers like to claim 'bout how
they know the pimpin' game How 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 down She was only 17 but she was lookin' 21
5'9", street-tough and packin' guns But I was
slippin' 'cause the pimpin' game was soft Baby
took a trick out to the suite so he could toss 911
is flashin' crazy on my pager I pushed the trunk
button and I load the 12 gauge Back to the 'tel
'cause I'm down to get my mail Smoke a trick quick
if he's beatin' on my female Kickin' down the door
and ain't nobody in the suite I never let my
agents take them tricks out on the street If I
wasn't slippin' then the psycho couldn't kill her
Body found face down, floatin' in the green river

You 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
[ Find more Lyrics on www.mp3lyrics.org/JesU ]
you're rollin' through the hood without your strap
(Hell no!) Especially when your rims are dipped in
gold and lookin' phat (Yeah!) 'Cause it's the
1990's and you got to be prepared Or 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' up And bones are
gettin' broken up, a jack move! (Give it up!) A
straight jack on a fella with a fat sack Comin'
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 spot But little do I know,
there's a lesson to be taught The 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 eye Barrel 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 cocking,
shot* (C'mon, let's go, nigga!) *sirens*
(Shouldn't have been a sucka, nigga!) *door
closing* (Punk motherfucker!! 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.
Lyrics: You Can't Slip, Sir Mix-A-Lot [end]