Ha he, he!
Why Mix-A-Lot cotton picker you freak skinnin' the cats
Why don't you bring the beat on in here, cotton picker so I can get down

Put it up
That's the way I like it there Mix-A-Lot
Hey Mix-A-Lot, picks me up cotton picker
Picks me up Mix-A-Lot

Now everybody's rappin' 'bout
Everybody's rappin' 'bout
Ever

Now everybody's rappin' 'bout
Everybody's rappin' 'bout
Ever

Now everybody's rappin' 'bout "where's their line?"
I'm gonna bust me a brand new rhyme
Girlfriend's down and you stomped her freak
Shake your hips and act conceit
Throw your head high in the air
Grab your partner's derriere
Fellas in the cut, I know you must be trippin'
My boy's got them there home girl's quippin'
Now grab your partner, take a bow
If you can't dance, I'll tell you how
Wave your hands and take two steps
Grab your hips and slide to the left
Get all in your partner's face
Swerve to the side and show your lace
If your a freak then let it show
And grab your partner doshy-do (do, do)

Now if you think your partner's fine
Grab her where the sun don't shine
If you can't dance, then tap your toes
If your stuffed up, turn up your nose
Wave your hands from side to side
Lean to the left and take a slide
Other's DJs know their no match
Just look to the stage and the song's that scratched

Rock me babe
Rock me babe
Rock me babe
Rock me babe

Freaks on the left and freaks on the right
Grab your partner, hold him tight
Put your hands in his Levi's
Hold his rear while he grips your thighs
The more you dance, the more I rap
The big fat beat makes your toes tap
Glee can, no can, hang with this
All you freaks give your man a kiss (look good)

My beats are icky
That why I'm Swass
My beats are icky
That why I'm Swass

My beats are icky
That why I'm Swass
My beats are icky
That why I'm Swass

Beat box
Oh Mix-A-Lot I'm feelin' it now, cotton picker
Yee ha!

Now everybody on the floor clap your hands
Smoke to the beat of the one man band
Mix-A-Lot brings on the drum machine
The bass line riff is "oh, so mean"
Mix-A-Lot make a jam in his room
With a full tape recorder you can bust jams too
Throw your partner across your thigh
Tickle her fast, until she starts to cry
Whip her to the left, whip her to the right
But don't whip her to hard cause her jeans are tight (look good)

Get your hands off that girl, boy
Seattle rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
L.A. rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
Miami rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
D.C. rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
Carolina rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
Houston, Texas rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
Your momma rocks
(To the, to, to, to the Square Dance Rap)
London, England rocks
(To the sq, to the sq, to the Square Dance Rap)
To the Square Dance Rap, hot damn

Hey Mix-A-Lot, what in the world is that noise cotton picker?
Sound like Grand Ole Opry
Hear what I say Mix-A-Lot, say sound like Grand Ole Opry cotton picker
Now before we end this filthy cut, we got a few things we have to say
To the home girls sprung on the hum drum beat, check out Sir Mix-A-Lot Ray
His style is fresh, so clean and new, he pulls so many tricks
If you give him ten bucks and a brand new tape, he'll put you in the mix
A ha ha, hey Mix-A-Lot I caught you that time, cotton picker

My beats are icky Writer/s: ANTHONY L. RAY
Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind