I'm your Testarosa. First gear
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Watch me go, keep 'em in fear
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Rumble, young man rumble
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Brother won't fumble, muthafukas just crumble
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Gaskets crank, rappers get spank
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Stripes get yank, a superior rank
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Won't stop the jock in some American car use a lyrical radar
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But I'm rolling, the cartel's tolling
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For the D's keep folding
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Most Cadillac rappers get look and disturb
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By the jet black blur
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Me, the Testarosa running like it suppose ta
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Don't try to get closer
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Cause you might get lost in the dual exhaust
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Don't ever try to fuck wit' a boss
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High octane there ain't no ping
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When I swing on a lyrical speed king
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And that's just first gear, listen for the upshift
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Who can get wit' this
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I'm your testarosa
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Second gear, look it here queer
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I'm in here, hitting like spears
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The rhyme cartel slings legalized dope
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Some cope, others get (gunshot noises)
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Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless
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12 cylinders listen to the horses
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It accelerates smooth
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Move or else get move
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Run for cover my brother, suckers are getting smothered
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I ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutter
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My rep is kept, muthafukas must step
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The best get swept and let out to rest
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Huuuu, look at that air intake
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Second gear, passing fakes
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Revolution per lyric get higher
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How can I chill when my rhyme's on fire
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As I approach the end of my tach
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My lyrical horse power blows to the max
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Red line is reached to the peak of my speech
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And I told ya, I'm your Testarosa
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Testarosa
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Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em up
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Keep 'em all down on these young bucks
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Let 'em know big boss is just a bit quicker
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Get the picture
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Backtalk tolerated none, son
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Left you at the gun when I hit gear one
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Now I'm in third and you think that's quick
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Huh, wait till I hit fifth
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Me and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacks
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You said fat now I'm yo to the max
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Want Mix-A-Lot for your next attack
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Hey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gat
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Two hundred sixty pounds of pure pain
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Critical mass is my homeboy's name
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My personal trainer, taking weight gainer
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Got the bulk to crush and contain ya
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On the tach, I'm like a wind ax
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Cutting up air like Boeings aircraft
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Time to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold ya
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I'm your Testarosa
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Up to fourth gear, the speed increase
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Police got beef wit the word chief
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Move or lose, I excuse the wack dudes
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You light my fuse and clear out or get used
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I go 100 in a 55
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No need to lip synch, I'm straight out live
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So I'm rough lust who wanna be tough
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You fuss and cuss wearing that Raider's stuff
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Fake fools from around the way
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Knowing damn well, you ain't from LA
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Ashamed where you come from son, so you rattle
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Like it or not, I scream straight up Seattle
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Rip up streets wit a lyrical sweet
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Don't peep or creep or you lose your freak
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The cam's growl, engine loud
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My tongue keep beating 'em down
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Rev it up, get ready for fifth
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Just hit 'em wit a maximum dis
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I roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control ya
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And I'm your Testarosa
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I'm your Testarosa
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Yo Punish, show 'em what time it is
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Gear number five, you're eyes get wide
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So realize that I survive and I rhyme for mine
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I rope the dope and is he coming up, nope
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I ain't the joke so don't hope for my throat
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There it is, the whiz gets his
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The word quiz is what it is and Mix don't give
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Sight to the wack who act like Max
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And try to jack a pop rap to hit the map
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That ain't like me, it ain't cool
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To rob another fool them claim you rule
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You boot but not me, troops, you like juice
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So you hit the stage wearing my boots
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Uh ,uh cupcake, I ain't about to get rape by fake
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Just look at the tail light shrink and then think
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How I left you pink in a lyrical kink
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Time to drop to my gears and then stop
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'Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jock
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Turbo cone is 230 up on ya
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I'm your Testarosa(3x)
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-----------------
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Testarosa
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| Sir Mix-A-Lot |
