My Bad Side - Sir Mix-A-Lot

Rushin up the middle like a fullback

It’s my drug, head to head contact

Mack 11, my best friend in full effect

That’s the beat that you been lookin for, no pussy check

Come quietly the punishment awaits you

I’m playin games and I know you can’t relate too

Surprise my rhyme hit you from the blind side

You better chill cause your messin with my bad side

(*Suckers getting tossed*)

My, my, my, my, my bad side

(*Suckers gettin tossed*)

(*Suckers gettin tossed*)

(*Suckers gettin tossed*)

Drop the Square Dance punk I ain’t bullshittin

Tell ya girl about how hard this shit’s gettin

Shoot 'em down like the All World Crime Boss

Break soft and like a salad you’ll get tossed

Voice like rock effects I don’t need 'em

You drop for your boss, I’m like a pimp when I greet 'em

Role like son, your just another recruit

Salute roody poos to your king I’m in the black boots

The beat’s runnin like a Benz in the fast lane

Over do it, put your speakers in a freeze frame

Watch the bunny while I inject the venom

Screams of pain cause my rhymes up in 'em

Rushin like a buffalo, and wild like a Navajo

Reckless like the PLO, bring it back and here we go The bass drum dancin through to get dumb

Girls on my tip doin flips because I’m well hung

Never been a fan of yours, vapors say my game’s slick

You find something then you hide it with a drum chick

Takin apart every rap that’s on the charts

Mix there with yours, spin it back it ain’t hard

Please, get up and take brown tip punk

Cause you might get dumped

Your producers are bitin, your gettin paid but your lame

And no two songs of mine sound the same

Fame is not needed to acquire great wealth

Pick pocket posse pick up the pace you need help

Sucker, you better step to the stand by Because your messin with my Bad Side

I’m like thunder, a barbaric like warrior

And I got the beat for ya Bumpin in your trunk like a hump of funk punk

You wanna jump but your jump got skunked

Pick 'em up ref, eight count his lights are out

Lookin for the jab but he caught my roundhouse

Stereo effect our words connect

Pick up the mic and check our muscles flex

Loosen up your belt so my rhyme is dealt

You might gain wealth but can you do it yourself, nope

You stole a beat from a old great record

Call my record weak, here it is now you break it You say I’m broke but I’m ridin in a Benzo

What you rollin boy a Hugo?

Tryin to roll with the girls your callin Mix-A-Lot a sucker

Who you callin sucker, lip-synching motherfucker

Move the set boy how’s this fiasco

I’m in your gutter and I’m singin like Tabasco, sucker

You better step to the stand by Because your messin with my Bad Side

My Bad Side

Gun in my nose, slap my girl in her face

Took both my beepers and my ill skin case

Snatched all my gold, sucker punk and he’s gone

He made a break for the car and now the chase is on Rollin up the Avenue high speed chase, yes

Caddy was back but my Benz was in his face

Left toward South Shore, wrong way homey

This street’s for Mix-A-Lot's posse only

Looked in his mirror saw my big gold grill

Ain’t no place to run so you might as well chill

Jumped from the car like he wanted to run

And Maharashi on the roof (yo drop the gun)

Punk dropped that, so I dropped mine

You see I’d rather box, than have to use my nine

Punk buckled up from a one, two punch

My girl stomped the sucker with a high heel pump

Cops on my jock, I broke round the block

Chase cars eat dust and G don’t stop

Smoker, you needed drugs for your next high

You pull a gat on my Bad Side

Guy #1: Alright man, let’s kick the door down and Break in their man,

we can get all his stuff, man, he got gold, man (word)

the jewelry man and a old Corvette in the garage, I’m a get me in that man

Guy #2: I want him, I want Mix-A-Lot man

Guy: I know well listen, take him out man

Guy #2: He dissed my sister

Guy: Don’t let him get away man, take his girl out man

Guy: I know my homeboy slapped his girl

Guy #2: I know, yeah, let’s get it, let’s get in, let’s get in Guy: Kick the door down, ready

Sir Mix-A-Lot: WELCOME TO MY HOUSE PUNKS, YEAH!

(*gun blasts*) (*yelling*)

Sir Mix-A-Lot: That’s right punk, try to run punk

(*gun blasts*) (*yelling*)

Sir Mix-A-Lot: Oh you the last one, huh

Guy: Oh, come on Mix, let me go, don’t point that gun

(*Two gun shots fired*)

You boys got to learn not to step up in my house with that weak gat