Lirik Lagu Testarosa - Sir Mix-A-Lot
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I'm your Testarosa. First gearWatch me go, keep 'em in fearRumble, young man rumbleBrother won't fumble, muthafukas just crumbleGaskets crank, rappers get spankStripes get yank, a superior rankWon't stop the jock in some American car use a lyrical radarBut I'm rolling, the cartel's tollingFor the D's keep foldingMost Cadillac rappers get look and disturbBy the jet black blurMe, the Testarosa running like it suppose taDon't try to get closerCause you might get lost in the dual exhaustDon't ever try to fuck wit' a bossHigh octane there ain't no pingWhen I swing on a lyrical speed kingAnd that's just first gear, listen for the upshiftWho can get wit' thisI'm your testarosa
Second gear, look it here queerI'm in here, hitting like spearsThe rhyme cartel slings legalized dopeSome cope, others get (gunshot noises)Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless12 cylinders listen to the horsesIt accelerates smoothMove or else get moveRun for cover my brother, suckers are getting smotheredI ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutterMy rep is kept, muthafukas must stepThe best get swept and let out to restHuuuu, look at that air intakeSecond gear, passing fakesRevolution per lyric get higherHow can I chill when my rhyme's on fireAs I approach the end of my tachMy lyrical horse power blows to the maxRed line is reached to the peak of my speechAnd I told ya, I'm your TestarosaTestarosa
Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em upKeep 'em all down on these young bucksLet 'em know big boss is just a bit quickerGet the pictureBacktalk tolerated none, sonLeft you at the gun when I hit gear oneNow I'm in third and you think that's quickHuh, wait till I hit fifthMe and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacksYou said fat now I'm yo to the maxWant Mix-A-Lot for your next attackHey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gatTwo hundred sixty pounds of pure painCritical mass is my homeboy's nameMy personal trainer, taking weight gainerGot the bulk to crush and contain yaOn the tach, I'm like a wind axCutting up air like Boeings aircraftTime to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold yaI'm your Testarosa
Up to fourth gear, the speed increasePolice got beef wit the word chiefMove or lose, I excuse the wack dudesYou light my fuse and clear out or get usedI go 100 in a 55No need to lip synch, I'm straight out liveSo I'm rough lust who wanna be toughYou fuss and cuss wearing that Raider's stuffFake fools from around the wayKnowing damn well, you ain't from LAAshamed where you come from son, so you rattleLike it or not, I scream straight up SeattleRip up streets wit a lyrical sweetDon't peep or creep or you lose your freakThe cam's growl, engine loudMy tongue keep beating 'em downRev it up, get ready for fifthJust hit 'em wit a maximum disI roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control yaAnd I'm your TestarosaI'm your TestarosaYo Punish, show 'em what time it is
Gear number five, you're eyes get wideSo realize that I survive and I rhyme for mineI rope the dope and is he coming up, nopeI ain't the joke so don't hope for my throatThere it is, the whiz gets hisThe word quiz is what it is and Mix don't giveSight to the wack who act like MaxAnd try to jack a pop rap to hit the mapThat ain't like me, it ain't coolTo rob another fool them claim you ruleYou boot but not me, troops, you like juiceSo you hit the stage wearing my bootsUh ,uh cupcake, I ain't about to get rape by fakeJust look at the tail light shrink and then thinkHow I left you pink in a lyrical kinkTime to drop to my gears and then stop'Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jockTurbo cone is 230 up on yaI'm your Testarosa (3x)
Second gear, look it here queerI'm in here, hitting like spearsThe rhyme cartel slings legalized dopeSome cope, others get (gunshot noises)Lost on the boss, it's finish is flawless12 cylinders listen to the horsesIt accelerates smoothMove or else get moveRun for cover my brother, suckers are getting smotheredI ?cutted? you other ?smutters? rammed in the gutterMy rep is kept, muthafukas must stepThe best get swept and let out to restHuuuu, look at that air intakeSecond gear, passing fakesRevolution per lyric get higherHow can I chill when my rhyme's on fireAs I approach the end of my tachMy lyrical horse power blows to the maxRed line is reached to the peak of my speechAnd I told ya, I'm your TestarosaTestarosa
Gear number three, get off the clutch and don't let 'em upKeep 'em all down on these young bucksLet 'em know big boss is just a bit quickerGet the pictureBacktalk tolerated none, sonLeft you at the gun when I hit gear oneNow I'm in third and you think that's quickHuh, wait till I hit fifthMe and my pack, we keep plenty of snackpacksYou said fat now I'm yo to the maxWant Mix-A-Lot for your next attackHey, yo, critical mass, yea, I got your gatTwo hundred sixty pounds of pure painCritical mass is my homeboy's nameMy personal trainer, taking weight gainerGot the bulk to crush and contain yaOn the tach, I'm like a wind axCutting up air like Boeings aircraftTime to shift and let my lyrical seatbelt hold yaI'm your Testarosa
Up to fourth gear, the speed increasePolice got beef wit the word chiefMove or lose, I excuse the wack dudesYou light my fuse and clear out or get usedI go 100 in a 55No need to lip synch, I'm straight out liveSo I'm rough lust who wanna be toughYou fuss and cuss wearing that Raider's stuffFake fools from around the wayKnowing damn well, you ain't from LAAshamed where you come from son, so you rattleLike it or not, I scream straight up SeattleRip up streets wit a lyrical sweetDon't peep or creep or you lose your freakThe cam's growl, engine loudMy tongue keep beating 'em downRev it up, get ready for fifthJust hit 'em wit a maximum disI roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control yaAnd I'm your TestarosaI'm your TestarosaYo Punish, show 'em what time it is
Gear number five, you're eyes get wideSo realize that I survive and I rhyme for mineI rope the dope and is he coming up, nopeI ain't the joke so don't hope for my throatThere it is, the whiz gets hisThe word quiz is what it is and Mix don't giveSight to the wack who act like MaxAnd try to jack a pop rap to hit the mapThat ain't like me, it ain't coolTo rob another fool them claim you ruleYou boot but not me, troops, you like juiceSo you hit the stage wearing my bootsUh ,uh cupcake, I ain't about to get rape by fakeJust look at the tail light shrink and then thinkHow I left you pink in a lyrical kinkTime to drop to my gears and then stop'Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jockTurbo cone is 230 up on yaI'm your Testarosa (3x)
