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You can't slip, 'cause the pimpin' game is not about the sex |
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You gots to be a businessman to keep them thangs in check |
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I used to run some call girls and pimp 'em just for fun |
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But you should see how the gangsters can make us pimps r-r-run! |
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Back in '82 I used to roll a gold Caddy |
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Females were my business, you could call me the Mack Daddy |
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But pimpin' came so easy to me, I didn't have to hit 'em |
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Roll 'em up to Canada so Johnny's could wit 'em |
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Show them fake ID's so we could step across the border |
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We hit the nearest hotel, and like that, I'm takin' orders |
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Two thousand dollars and she'll make you lose your morals |
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We must increase the profit if the trick wants to get oral |
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Rappers like to claim 'bout how they know the pimpin' game |
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How can you run the ladies when you're only 17? |
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I speak from experience when I say "Turn around!" |
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'Cause I was rollin' heavy 'till one female took me down |
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She was only 17 but she was lookin' 21 |
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5'9", street-tough and packin' guns |
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But I was slippin' 'cause the pimpin' game was soft |
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Baby took a trick out to the suite so he could toss |
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911 is flashin' crazy on my pager |
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I pushed the trunk button and I load the 12 gauge |
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Back to the 'tel 'cause I'm down to get my mail |
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Smoke a trick quick if he's beatin' on my female |
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Kickin' down the door and ain't nobody in the suite |
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I never let my agents take them tricks out on the street |
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If I wasn't slippin' then the psycho couldn't kill her |
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Body found face down, floatin' in the green river |
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You can't slip! Not in this pimpin' game, chief! |
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No no, you can't slip! |
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You can't slip. |
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Yo E-Dog, tell them what's up with that slangin' and bangin', chief! |
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[Verse 2: E-Dog (Mix-a-Lot)] |
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You can't slip when you're rollin' through the hood without your strap (Hell |
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no!) |
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Especially when your rims are dipped in gold and lookin' phat (Yeah!) |
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'Cause it's the 1990's and you got to be prepared |
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Or a nigga like the E'll roll 'em up and keep 'em scared (Huhh??) |
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High sightin' nigga rollin danks through my set (Don't do it!) |
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Drops 6-4, gives my homies no respect (None!) |
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But when we starts the loc'in' up, the fool will start the chokin' up |
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And bones are gettin' broken up, a jack move! (Give it up!) |
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A straight jack on a fella with a fat sack |
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Comin' out missin' when you're slippin' on the fast track (Yeah!) |
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Came through servin' but you went out gettin' served (Peace!) |
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Got you for your Daytons then we beat you to the curb (Huh!) |
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Now it's time to slang them thangs and come up on a grip (Yeah!) |
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Trade him for some ounces so that I can clock my chips (Get paid!) |
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Say it's 'bout the dividends and not about the fame (Yep!) |
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But 'till I let you know, the E-D-O-G is my name (Word.) |
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So now I'm straight addicted to the jackin' and the slangin' |
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Cross court saggin' and my flag shows I'm bangin' |
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But if you think I'm gonna stop this life, well you're wrong! |
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I don't care about your muscles 'cause my 9 is pluggin' domes (Ha ha!) |
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So here we go again, another jack in effect (Yeah!) |
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A candy-painted Blazer chased the driver, make him wreck (Get him!) |
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And if he tries to run then I just smoke him on the spot |
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But little do I know, there's a lesson to be taught |
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The brother pulled an AK and now I'm yellin' "Mayday!" |
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[gunshots] ("OH SHIT, HE GOT E-DOG!") On the concrete I lay! |
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He walks up slowly, then he looks me in my eye |
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Barrel to my temple, so I know I'm gonna die! |
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(Lil' cake-ass gang nigga, you can't jack for these D's! See ya!) |
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[gun cocking, shot] (C'mon, let's go, nigga!) [sirens] |
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(Shouldn't have been a sucka, nigga!) [door closing] |
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(Punk motherfucker!! Yeah!) [car skids off] |
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You can't slip. |
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You can't slip. Oh, you better pull them pants up, champ. Huh huh. |
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You can't slip. Gots to be a gangsta, huh? |
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Well, you can't slip! |
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[creepy organ music] |
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Yeah, a lot of young brothers is constantly tellin' me how they growin'. |
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Well, I'm just tryin' to tell you where you're goin'. |
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You can't slip. Peace |
