Sir Mix-A-Lot Testarosa текст песни, слова песни Testarosa Sir Mix-A-Lot
Sir Mix-A-Lot - Testarosa
Watch me go, keep 'em in fear
Rumble, young man rumble
Brother won't fumble, muthafukas just crumble
Gaskets crank, rappers get spank
Stripes get yank, a superior rank
Won't stop the jock in some American car use a lyrical radar
But I'm rolling, the cartel's tolling
For the D's keep folding
Most Cadillac rappers get look and disturb
By the jet black blur
Me, the Testarosa running like it suppose ta
Don't try to get closer
Cause you might get lost in the dual exhaust
Don't ever try to fuck wit' a boss
High octane there ain't no ping
When I swing on a lyrical speed king
And that's just first gear, listen for the upshift
Who can get wit' this
I'm your testarosa
Second gear, look it here queer
I'm in here, hitting like spears
The rhyme cartel slings legalized dope
Some cope, others get (gunshot noises)
Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless
12 cylinders listen to the horses
It accelerates smooth
Move or else get move
Run for cover my brother, suckers are getting smothered
I ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutter
My rep is kept, muthafukas must step
The best get swept and let out to rest
Huuuu, look at that air intake
Second gear, passing fakes
Revolution per lyric get higher
How can I chill when my rhyme's on fire
As I approach the end of my tach
My lyrical horse power blows to the max
Red line is reached to the peak of my speech
And I told ya, I'm your Testarosa
Testarosa
Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em up
Keep 'em all down on these young bucks
Let 'em know big boss is just a bit quicker
Get the picture
Backtalk tolerated none, son
Left you at the gun when I hit gear one
Now I'm in third and you think that's quick
Huh, wait till I hit fifth
Me and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacks
You said fat now I'm yo to the max
Want Mix-A-Lot for your next attack
Hey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gat
Two hundred sixty pounds of pure pain
Critical mass is my homeboy's name
My personal trainer, taking weight gainer
Got the bulk to crush and contain ya
On the tach, I'm like a wind ax
Cutting up air like Boeings aircraft
Time to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold ya
I'm your Testarosa
Up to fourth gear, the speed increase
Police got beef wit the word chief
Move or lose, I excuse the wack dudes
You light my fuse and clear out or get used
I go 100 in a 55
No need to lip synch, I'm straight out live
So I'm rough lust who wanna be tough
You fuss and cuss wearing that Raider's stuff
Fake fools from around the way
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