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 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.
