Verse 1: Sir Mix-a-Lot
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You can't slip, 'cause the pimpin' game is not about the sex
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You gots to be a businessman to keep them thangs in check
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I used to run some call girls and pimp 'em just for fun
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But you should see how the gangsters can make us pimps r-r-run!
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Back in '82 I used to roll a gold Caddy
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Females were my business, you could call me the Mack Daddy
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But pimpin' came so easy to me, I didn't have to hit 'em
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Roll 'em up to Canada so Johnny's could wit 'em
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Show them fake ID's so we could step across the border
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We hit the nearest hotel, and like that, I'm takin' orders
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Two thousand dollars and she'll make you lose your morals
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We must increase the profit if the trick wants to get oral
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Rappers like to claim 'bout how they know the pimpin' game
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How can you run the ladies when you're only 17?
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I speak from experience when I say "Turn around!"
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'Cause I was rollin' heavy 'till one female took me down
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She was only 17 but she was lookin' 21
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5'9", street-tough and packin' guns
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But I was slippin' 'cause the pimpin' game was soft
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Baby took a trick out to the suite so he could toss
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911 is flashin' crazy on my pager
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I pushed the trunk button and I load the 12 gauge
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Back to the 'tel 'cause I'm down to get my mail
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Smoke a trick quick if he's beatin' on my female
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Kickin' down the door and ain't nobody in the suite
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I never let my agents take them tricks out on the street
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If I wasn't slippin' then the psycho couldn't kill her
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Body found face down, floatin' in the green river
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You can't slip! Not in this pimpin' game, chief!
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No no, you can't slip!
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You can't slip.
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Yo E-Dog, tell them what's up with that slangin' and bangin', chief!
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Verse 2: E-Dog (Mix-a-Lot)
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You can't slip when you're rollin' through the hood without your strap (Hell
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no!)
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Especially when your rims are dipped in gold and lookin' phat (Yeah!)
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'Cause it's the 1990's and you got to be prepared
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Or a nigga like the E'll roll 'em up and keep 'em scared (Huhh??)
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High sightin' nigga rollin danks through my set (Don't do it!)
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Drops 6-4, gives my homies no respect (None!)
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But when we starts the loc'in' up, the fool will start the chokin' up
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And bones are gettin' broken up, a jack move! (Give it up!)
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A straight jack on a fella with a fat sack
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Comin' out missin' when you're slippin' on the fast track (Yeah!)
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Came through servin' but you went out gettin' served (Peace!)
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Got you for your Daytons then we beat you to the curb (Huh!)
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Now it's time to slang them thangs and come up on a grip (Yeah!)
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Trade him for some ounces so that I can clock my chips (Get paid!)
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Say it's 'bout the dividends and not about the fame (Yep!)
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But 'till I let you know, the E-D-O-G is my name (Word.)
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So now I'm straight addicted to the jackin' and the slangin'
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Cross court saggin' and my flag shows I'm bangin'
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But if you think I'm gonna stop this life, well you're wrong!
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I don't care about your muscles 'cause my 9 is pluggin' domes (Ha ha!)
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So here we go again, another jack in effect (Yeah!)
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A candy-painted Blazer chased the driver, make him wreck (Get him!)
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And if he tries to run then I just smoke him on the spot
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But little do I know, there's a lesson to be taught
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The brother pulled an AK and now I'm yellin' "Mayday!"
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*gunshots* ("OH SHIT, HE GOT E-DOG!") On the concrete I lay!
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He walks up slowly, then he looks me in my eye
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Barrel to my temple, so I know I'm gonna die!
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(Lil' cake-ass gang nigga, you can't jack for these D's! See ya!)
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*gun cocking, shot* (C'mon, let's go, nigga!) *sirens*
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(Shouldn't have been a sucka, nigga!) *door closing*
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(Punk motherfucker!! Yeah!) *car skids off*
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You can't slip.
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You can't slip. Oh, you better pull them pants up, champ. Huh huh.
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You can't slip. Gots to be a gangsta, huh?
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Well, you can't slip!
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*creepy organ music*
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Yeah, a lot of young brothers is constantly tellin' me how they growin'.
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Well, I'm just tryin' to tell you where you're goin'.
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You can't slip. Peace.
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You Can't Slip
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| Sir Mix-A-Lot |
