unknown

Verse 1: sir mix-a-lot
You can't slip, 'cause the pimpin' game is not about the sex
You gots to be a businessman to keep them thangs in check
I used to run some call girls and pimp 'em just for fun
But you should see how the gangsters can make us pimps r-r-run!
Back in '82 i used to roll a gold caddy
Females were my business, you could call me the mack daddy
But pimpin' came so easy to me, i didn't have to hit 'em
Roll 'em up to canada so johnny's could wit 'em
Show them fake id's so we could step across the border
We hit the nearest hotel, and like that, i'm takin' orders
Two thousand dollars and she'll make you lose your morals
We must increase the profit if the trick wants to get oral
Rappers like to claim 'bout how they know the pimpin' game
How can you run the ladies when you're only 17?
I speak from experience when i say "turn around!"
'cause i was rollin' heavy 'till one female took me down
She was only 17 but she was lookin' 21
5'9", street-tough and packin' guns
But i was slippin' 'cause the pimpin' game was soft
Baby took a trick out to the suite so he could toss
911 is flashin' crazy on my pager
I pushed the trunk button and i load the 12 gauge
Back to the 'tel 'cause i'm down to get my mail
Smoke a trick quick if he's beatin' on my female
Kickin' down the door and ain't nobody in the suite
I never let my agents take them tricks out on the street
If i wasn't slippin' then the psycho couldn't kill her
Body found face down, floatin' in the green river

You can't slip! not in this pimpin' game, chief!
No no, you can't slip!
You can't slip.
Yo e-dog, tell them what's up with that slangin' and bangin', chief!

Verse 2: e-dog (mix-a-lot)
You can't slip when you're rollin' through the hood without your strap (hell
No!)
Especially when your rims are dipped in gold and lookin' phat (yeah!)
'cause it's the 1990's and you got to be prepared
Or a nigga like the e'll roll 'em up and keep 'em scared (huhh??)
High sightin' nigga rollin danks through my set (don't do it!)
Drops 6-4, gives my homies no respect (none!)
But when we starts the loc'in' up, the fool will start the chokin' up
And bones are gettin' broken up, a jack move! (give it up!)
A straight jack on a fella with a fat sack
Comin' out missin' when you're slippin' on the fast track (yeah!)
Came through servin' but you went out gettin' served (peace!)
Got you for your daytons then we beat you to the curb (huh!)
Now it's time to slang them thangs and come up on a grip (yeah!)
Trade him for some ounces so that i can clock my chips (get paid!)
Say it's 'bout the dividends and not about the fame (yep!)
But 'till i let you know, the e-d-o-g is my name (word.)
So now i'm straight addicted to the jackin' and the slangin'
Cross court saggin' and my flag shows i'm bangin'
But if you think i'm gonna stop this life, well you're wrong!
I don't care about your muscles 'cause my 9 is pluggin' domes (ha ha!)
So here we go again, another jack in effect (yeah!)
A candy-painted blazer chased the driver, make him wreck (get him!)
And if he tries to run then i just smoke him on the spot
But little do i know, there's a lesson to be taught
The brother pulled an ak and now i'm yellin' "mayday!"
*gunshots* ("oh shit, he got e-dog!") on the concrete i lay!
He walks up slowly, then he looks me in my eye
Barrel to my temple, so i know i'm gonna die!
(lil' cake-ass gang nigga, you can't jack for these d's! see ya!)
*gun cocking, shot* (c'mon, let's go, nigga!) *sirens*
(shouldn't have been a sucka, nigga!) *door closing*
(punk motherfucker!! yeah!) *car skids off*

You can't slip.
You can't slip. oh, you better pull them pants up, champ. huh huh.
You can't slip. gots to be a gangsta, huh?
Well, you can't slip!
*creepy organ music*
Yeah, a lot of young brothers is constantly tellin' me how they growin'.
Well, i'm just tryin' to tell you where you're goin'.
You can't slip. peace.

I'm peelin off domes with a baseball bat
Forty-four magnum, choice of gat
Mercury tip fillin up my clip
I can shoot him in the dome or i can get him in the hip
But boom, look at all the niggaz runnin out the room
Just another soldier, causin doom
No i don't bang but i like to wound... my enemy
Who is the enemy, i'm glad you asked
Any motherfucker standin in my path
Got a bentley turbo, now you wanna jack
But remember, mack daddy is strapped
And when you're platinum, niggaz start dissin
Record companies think you're missin
But i'm back *clap clap (gunfire)*
I'm back *clap clap (gunfire)*
I'm back and i got a bigger gat *click boom*
Now the positive rhymes is onnnn
And i'm positively hittin that dome
You might want mine but you can't get mine
Rather put a hot nine right up in your behind
I'm not the nigga that you wanna recoup
And i don't wear a giorgio suit
But i'm down for my business so please don't step
You heard about my lawfirm's rep, i check my bank

Chorus: dj punisher and sir mix-a-lot

"cash money, cash-cash.. money" "boom! here i am, rich"
Checkin my bank
"cash money, cash-cash.. money" "boom! here i am, rich"
Ahhhi checks my bank
"cash money, cash-cash.. money" "boom! here i am, rich"
Straight checkin my bank
"cash money, cash-cash-cash-cash.... cash money"

In the magazine i look like a dope man
Cause i'm paid, and i'm suckin up to no man
And in the rap game i gets no respect
Cause i'm checkin more bank than the heat check
Yeah i'm a pimp and my hoe is the system
Uncle sam might think i just dissed him
But nah i'm just pumpin straight facts
You either be a mack, or you get macked
Some of the jealous wanna roll on the boss
But this hk's keepin em tossed
Cause i duck them deuce deuce treys at point blank range
*automatic gunfire* attitudes get changed
I'm about making these dividends
And every motherfucker ain't my friend
And i check my back when i count my snaps
And niggaz that snatch get slapped
Girls wanna roll, that's cool
But i'm not to be played that fool
Some niggaz think a brother with money is slippin
But i've be down, so quit trippin
My goal, to increase the size of this bank
I hold, and bring up the brothers whose down
To roll, and keep all the shit under my control
That's how i'm livin, i check my bank

Chorus: dj punisher

"cash money, cash-cash.. money"
"clockin more dollars than chase manhattan"
*repeat 2x*

I check my bank *dj punisher starts scratch*
C'mon punish! "cash money"

A word to the cops, i can't be stopped
A word to my enemies, i don't drop props
A word to the klan, i don't pick crops
You can run up with your whip but you'll just run up and get popped
A word to the tipper, rap won't fall
A word to the bourgeoise, fuck all y'all
A word to apartheid you bouts to fall
You can kill a couple brothers but you'll never get us all
Straight laced game's what i'm poppin at the new jacks
Mack daddy niggaz like to snatch fat sacks
I used to be nice with my rhymes, and now i drop dimes
*beastie boys scratch "what's the time?"*
It's time to get paid in the nine-two g
Recession never stopped a nigga like me
I'm breakin no laws but i'm livin on edge
Puttin ceo's to bed
Business, straight yankin in dead presidents
It's like sellin dope, but the money ain't bent
The game is stiff, but i'ma get mine
My set is a dollar sign, i check my bank

Yup, checkin my bank, fool, ha ha
Yup, i check my bank, sheeit
Straight checkin my bank
C'mon punish! *dj punisher starts scratchin*
Punish em! punish em!
Show these dj's what time it is punish
Peace out y'all, and i'm checkin my bank
I checks my bank
I checks my bank, straight paid clown
Checkin my bank
I checks my bank!