I’m rollin’ in a Nine-Oh van. California, that’s my plan
Got memories Mix-A-Lot left in limbo, first stop Sacremento
Here we go, hit a club called Bentleys
Want a skirt to git wit’ me, hit me
There’s a girl with a back like a Cadillac
I walked up and got pushed back
Her boyfriend tell her I’m a play-a
Dropped salt on a dope rhyme say-a
My reputation offends this man
Next day hit Williamland Park
Creepin’ like a shark
Spot a bad freak and I swoop like a hawk
“What up?”, “Howya like to roll wit’ a champ?”
“Please! All ya’ll rappers is tramps”
My reputation is stoppin’ my mission
Every freak in Sac is dissin’
Back on the four lane freeway
Next stop, the two-one-three, L.A.
The two-one-three is rough
But the Mixalot game is tough
Spot a young girl and I start that gamin’
Baby girl asks what set am I claimin’
“Just cuz I rap, I gotta be in gang?”
It ain’t a black thang, it’s a rap thang
Censorship is sweepin’ the nation
Messin’ up a rap stars reputation

A rappers reputation, that’s what I got

So I’m finished with the two-one-three
I knock, baby, but it’s time to leave
Two days on the hard rock, boys is cruisin’
Interstate Ten, straight to Houston
They tell me ’bout the girls in the fifth ward
You know the boys must score
So we hit a fly club called Guchies
Lookin’ for the skirts with the largest booties
Girlies in the club wasn’t takin’ no shorts
Showin’ no remorse
For a brother like Mix, lookin’ for the smooth
Didn’t need a Houston skirt to get with me
But the nights still young
And the hunk ain’t done
So we stepped to the van
Attitude’s out of it
The next club, The Main Event
We never think about a dress code
Just step up in the club and let the game roll
But as soon as my boy Maharaji pulls up
Some punk starts runnin’ up
He said you don’t wanna be with a rap star
They play you for your money and your car
Well my boy got crushed but the girl stepped off
With a rap stars rep, the girls are lost
“Hey yo, what’s up, this is Mix I had to make a run
right quick, but leave your name and number ‘n I’ll
getcha right back, peace.”

So the posse left Houston Texas
All the girls keep callin’ us sexist
Houston media is givin’ us rappers no pity
So we all hit Kansas City
In K.C. we go The Gates and Suns
Gotta get grub ‘fore we run
Met a little freak named Stacy
I said I’m not just here for the Barbecue baby
She gave me that look, like Pebbles
I’m acked with bass not treble
So I say, Oogley-goo oogley-doo-goo-doo
“What’d you say?” I ain’t tellin’ you
You see the Mix game is laced with riddles
It ain’t moaney, it’s Mix in the middle
In walked my ex named Wendy
She got a fresh Dooney Bag
‘Cause she’s tired of Fendi
Oooh, could a brother be busted
Because Wendy trusted, Me?
An’ ah told a lit’l lie ‘n
Said I was a loyal guy
Wendy got mad and she wants to dis me
In Kansas City
Wendy starts to groovin’
Hands on her hips and her hair starts movin’
She said the Mix-A-Lot game is phony
Just ’cause I said I’m runnin’ girls like ponies
But talkin’ that stuff is my occupation
That’s how I got this reputation

A rappers reputation, got a rappers reputation
Bring it on down. A rappers reputation, bring it back
A rappers reputation, that’s what I got. A rappers
reputation, peace.

*SPOKEN*
Mack Daddy
Ain’t you tired of that gameless mark smackin’ you in your face baby?
Mack Daddy
You better roll with the big mack, the man with the game
Mack Daddy
Gotta big snake, all you gotta do is make it dance, you know what I’m sayin’
Mack Daddy

*RAP*

I’m rollin’ to another neighborhood
Me ‘n my boyz, up to no good
Chasin’ miniskirts ‘n the ride is packed
Rollin’ to a mall called SeaTac
Cruisin’ ‘n the cops don’t like that
‘Round the mall once ‘n don’t come back
Four-door Rolls with the black exterior
Turbo Bentley, white interior
A Rolls Royce fulla big black men
In the suburbs, messin’ with citizens
Walkin’ in the mall, looka how I spit
Sloppy dressed brothers make the females blitz
Big long starters, black low tops
Mack daddy hat got me lookin’ like Pops
But that’s cool, cuz, I’m mackin’ anyway
‘N your females my prey
‘N I’m callin’ out skirts like Chuck D
Sista we missed ya, get wit’ me
Comin’, runnin, your boyfriends gunnin’
The big boss is so cunnin’
Some of my home boys hate me
They get a microphone, then try to take me
But you ain’t slip, sayin’ what’s up Mix?
Boy I’m hip to your tricks

I’m the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Yeah ain’t no reason to bet ya
‘Cause I’m the Mack Daddy
Steadily mackin’
Mack Daddy

Kickin’ in a buffed up Lamborgini
If your females proper she gots to see me
‘Cause I’m the king of the roll outs
Mack Daddy is back still runnin’ my mouth
I see a freak on the SeaTac strip
My Lamborgini’s brakes get grip
So I pull up on to The Spot
I start frontin’, ’cause I wanna get jocked
Topped off the gas, whipped out my cash
‘N one girls starts to laugh
But I’m still smooth
‘N my game is on, so I make my move
Say, you in the white pants
I’m a step close to ya, but I won’t dance
‘N what you laughin’ at
All the girls start pointin’ at my hat
‘N I’m a giggle wit’ ’em, ’cause I just wanna get wit’ ’em
I don’t hit ’em, I just wanna stick ’em
So I pull baby girl to the side
She said she likes my car
I said take a ride
So we flipped up the doors on the Contach
But gettin’ in a Lamborgini is hard
So I grabbed baby girl by the rear end
I thought she might need help gettin’ in
So I clos’ the do’
‘N now you kno’
Mack Daddy is about to sco’
The girl said, baby you can have me
So I stopped at the tail
‘Cause I’m the Mack Daddy

Mack Daddy
All you all gameless marks know
Mack Daddy
I’m the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Yew

I don’t smoke no weed, but I like to G
I don’t mean O.G., I mean sex baby
‘Cause a brother like me don’t date
I sling records ‘n tapes
The Rhyme Cartel with the Def American
Gettin’ brothers sprung like Farrakhan
‘N I’m stuffin’ my ladies pumps
In the backa my Benz I humps
I’m nasty ‘n proud
To hell with cool, I’m G’in’ ’em loud
Other people at the hotel gets no rest
‘Cause Mixalots bumpin’ them headrests
She got booty for days
Other brothers is pullin’ up
But she ain’t phased
‘Cause I laid my game like a concrete slab
She’s the kinda skirt a mack gotta have
Rollin’, showin’ her off
‘N some fool tried to call me soft
He’s in a one nine seven two skin head caddy
A old superfly mack daddy
So my girl stepped out ‘n he tried to mack
But she ain’t havin’ that
You see your game is weak, G
My girl, I ain’t slappin’, I’m mackin’
‘N rappin’

Mack Daddy
I’m the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
I’m the Mack Daddy
Mack Daddy
Come over here and get some of this snake
Mack Daddy
I’m the Mack Daddy

He’s in a yellow Camaro, skin so smooth
A buttercup boy from the funny school
His hair’s all nice and wavy
And mine is nappy so you call me crazy
And he’s got them skin-tight spandex on
Straight cake to the bone
He’d cook a big meal like your mother would
A cake boy, up to no good
He’ll take your girlfriend from ya
And he’s makin’ my homeboys wonder
His body’s a trip, got a booty like Josephine Baker
And a touch of blush maker
And why most fly girls getitn’ hooked on this?
‘Cause he ain’t down for the French kiss
Girl, I’ma tell you what a cake boy is
(But he’s so sensitive!)
Tossed salad is the hairdo
Cappuchino latte – his brew
And he’s down to do what most girls tell him to
Brother, I’m scared of you!
His cash flow is low
And he ain’t down to throw
But when he shakes that girl-like body on the floor,
The girls go (boinggg!!)

Striaght cake boy!
Cake.
Straight-up cake boy! Huh, yeah.

I’m workin’ out at the gym, a cake boy walks in
And all the girls step to him
And I’m trippin’ ’cause I’m hard as nails
And he’s lookin’ like a smoker from hell
Spandex suit, pink deer-foam boots
And a backpack full of juice
And all the girlies start rubbin’ him, and lovin’ him
All the cake boys huggin’ him
Takin’ off his shirt, the cake boy had no gun
So don’t throw him up, son
His walkman radio was playin’
(You gotta have cake!) That’s what the tape was sayin’
And he was shakin’ that thang like a Chubby Checker nightmare
All the homies stared
I don’t know what it is, hell –
He was takin’ more women than a mall sale!
His spandex stuck right up in the place where the sun don’t shine
But the girls don’t mind
‘Cause that cake boy starts to move
To the old disco groove
And your girlfriend likes that
You may not like that, but that’s a fact, black
He likes to roller-skate, skip rocks on lakes
The bourgeois girls want straight-up cake boys

Huh.

If your girl likes rhythm and blues, look out
‘Cause that cake’s in the house
But all singers ain’t cake, though
Some stay black, while the others went yellow
Jump on stage like they never seen a ghetto
Singin’ falsetto
Sayin’ “Oo, I want your touch,
You know I just can’t get enough!” (a-hoo-hoo)
And your girl gets sprung, stickin’ out her tongue
And you sittin’ like you’re dumb ’till the show is done?
Naw, brothers, you gotta roll like this:
Find a woman that wants a man’s kiss
‘Cause if you don’t you’re bound to lose your girl
To that cake boy world
‘Casue that cake boy’ll pull up quick
And say “Does your man have a body like this?”
And you don’t, ’cause you drink much brew, hah
Got a body like Buddah
And your game is strong, and your background is raw
Hit the cake boy dead in the jaw
And that cake boy broke down in ters
Now your girl is sho’ nuff here
But don’t sweat it, ’cause you ain’t failin’
Get a ’round-the-way girl, and keep on bailin’
And if you’re stuck with one of them stuck-up ducks
Huh, don’t press your luck
‘Cause she’ll leave you for what she enjoys
It ain’t a man, it’s a straight-up cake boy!

Yeah.
Cake boy.

Don’t lose your girl to one.