'm rollin' in a Nine-Oh van. California, that's my plan
Got memories Mixalot 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