Sir Mix-A-Lot Follow

I'm your Testarosa. First gear

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

Knowing damn well, you ain't from LA

Ashamed where you come from son, so you rattle

Like it or not, I scream straight up Seattle

Rip up streets wit a lyrical sweet

Don't peep or creep or you lose your freak

The cam's growl, engine loud

My tongue keep beating 'em down

Rev it up, get ready for fifth

Just hit 'em wit a maximum dis

I roll ya, fold ya, mold ya, I told ya I control ya

And I'm your Testarosa

I'm your Testarosa

Yo Punish, show 'em what time it is

Gear number five, you're eyes get wide

So realize that I survive and I rhyme for mine

I rope the dope and is he coming up, nope

I ain't the joke so don't hope for my throat

There it is, the whiz gets his

The word quiz is what it is and Mix don't give

Sight to the wack who act like Max

And try to jack a pop rap to hit the map

That ain't like me, it ain't cool

To rob another fool them claim you rule

You boot but not me, troops, you like juice

So you hit the stage wearing my boots

Uh ,uh cupcake, I ain't about to get rape by fake

Just look at the tail light shrink and then think

How I left you pink in a lyrical kink

Time to drop to my gears and then stop

'Cause I lock the box on them clowns that jock

Turbo cone is 230 up on ya

I'm your Testarosa(3x)