Seatlle Ain't Bullshittin' - Sir Mix-A-Lot

Huh, sellout

Boy this is the S-E-A-T-O-W-N, clown

Forever (Seatown)!

Yeah, and that’s from the motherfuckin heart!

So if you ain’t down witcha hometown, STEP OFF PUNK!

Mix, tell these fakes

what the deal is

I was raised in the S-E-A-double T-L-E

Seattle, born in the C.D.

nigga

19th and Yesler boy da pimpin' was hard

Cadillac was the car I wanted

And I got that seven-seven Coupe with the trues and straps

I couldn’t roll no hubcaps, huh, it wasn’t easy

Tryin' to compete, with my homies in the C. D

Here’s my plan, funky-ass sedan

Laid down with the vogues, money in my hand

Hair all whipped up

Carload full of freaks with the butts

I used to cruise around Seward Park

Flip the funky eighty-one, and La Vista

Lookin' for freaks to be G’d

Most mini-skirts wanted please

In them days boy you had to be pimpin'

Just to keep motherfuckers from trippin'

Now punks wanna run up pokin'

With a nine double-M, is you jokin'?

Cause I’m packin' - a HK-91 son

308's is what I run

A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn’t

Huh, cause Seattle wasn’t bullshittin'

It ain’t nothin' but the real up in the Northwest (real deal nigga)

So don’t step to the 2−0-6 tryin to kick up dust

Or you might get floored, sucka (get FUCKED UP), think about it

This is from the Attitude Adjustor

Do we got gangs?

Hell yeah, brothers gotta get paid

Mickey D’s ain’t payin' no way

So they take to the streets with gats

And they’ll put 'em on ya just like that

So I’m undercover, when I’m rollin' through the C. D

A lot of niggas wanna get me

I see a freak in front of Garfield, I swoop around the block

Gang of niggas yellin' out, «Fuck Mix-A-Lot!»

Do I hate 'em?

Naw, I gotta love 'em

They think my head is big, and I’m tryin to be above 'em

Huh, but to the masses I’m just another coon

Gettin' paid for a little bit of boon

So even though a lot of niggas talk shit

I’m still down for the Northwest when I hit

The stage, anywhere U.S.A

I give Seattle and Tacoma much play

So here’s a shot to the Criminal Nation

And the young brother Kid Sensation

I can’t forget Maharaji and the Attitude Adjustor

And the hardcore brothers to the West of Seattle

Yeah, Westside

High Pointe, dippin' fo'-do' rides

And my homeboy Critical Mass in the back

With the bat to smack back all packs who try to jack me

Just because I’m in a S-E-C

Droptop A-M-G

The cops say Mix-A-Lot's a dope dealer

But I’m more like a dope deal sealer

I sell rap deals, not drug deals

Handin' out contracts like meals

The Rhyme Cartel, I own the muthafuckin' label

And Ricardo got the papers on the table

And I’m signin' 'em, just like that

No sluts so my pockets stay fat

A lot of clowns tried to take this town but they didn’t

Huh, cause Seattle wasn’t bullshittin'

Huh, nigga this is MY town, what you talkin'?

Punks tryin' to tell me where I come from!

Who the fuck you talkin' to, clown?

Need to shut the Hell up, Seattle Tacoma strong

Shit, you was a young lil' rudy poot muthafucka 'fore you picked up a nine

millimeter!

Who you smokin'?

Punk ass, cake, faggot ass nigga!

Let’s take a trip to the South end, we go West

Hit Rainier Ave and bust left

I’m in a funky-ass Porsche Gemballa

No bitches, just women on my collar

Yo' nigga is back again

Huh, who you callin' sellout fool?

I was puttin' caps in clowns when you was still in school

But I choose not to talk about that

So many gangsta crews now, I’d rather kick back

So I drop my own style

Fuck bitin' somebody else, and jumpin' on a pile

But that’s another subject, gettin' back to the hood

Me and my boys is up to no good

A big line of cars, rollin' DEEP through the South end

Made a left on Henderson

Clowns talkin' shit in the Southshore parkin' lot

Critical Mass is beggin' to box

But we keep on goin' because down the streets

A bunch of freaks in front of Rainier Beach, was lookin' at US

They missed that bus, and they figured that they could trust us

Six cars in a line and the girls was fine

I had «The Wicked One» playin' on my Alpine

Two Porsches, two Benzes, a Ferrari Testarossa

And a Rolls Royce roaster

Miami Vice tried to get with this, but they didn’t

Huh-huh, cause Seattle ain’t bullshittin'!

Yeah I wanna whassup to my DJ Punish?

My boy Strange, across the water whassup LX?

Bookie, Mark P, MC Fury

The Group EQ, old forty ounce drinkin' A. D

Always Dangerous

PD2, Tribe, E.C.P.

ready and willin'

Nasty Nes and Glen Boyd

P.O.S., Brothers of the Same Mind

L.S.R., High Performance

Whassup Eightball?

Kazzy D, Villains in Black

J-1, E-Dawg, my boy T-Mack

P.L.B., MC Kash

My boy with the hookup on the 'zoid freak coordinator

Bubba, DJ Skill and my boy AR-10

Everybody in Seatown and T-Town!