My Hooptie

(album: Seminar - 1989)

My hooptie rolling, tailpipe dragging
Heat don't work an' my girl keeps nagging
Six-nine Buick, deuce keeps rolling
One hubcap 'cause three got stolen
Bumper shook loose, chrome keeps scraping
Mis-matched tires, and my white walls flaking
Hit mickey-d's, Maharaji starts to bug
He ate a quarter-pounder, threw the pickles on my rug
Running, moving tabs expired
Girlies trying to dis 'n say my car looks tired
Hit my brakes, out slid skittles
Tinted back window with a bubble in the middle
Who's car is it? Posse won't say
We all play it off when you look our way
Rolling four deep, tires smoke up the block
Gotta roll this bucket, 'cause my Benz is in the shop

My hooptie my hooptie

Four door nightmare, trunk locks' stuck
Big dice on the mirror, grill like a truck
Lifters ticking, accelerator's sticking
Something on my left front wheel keeps clicking
Picked up the girlies, now we're eight deep

Cars barely moving, but now we got heat
Made a left turn as I watched in fright
My ex-girlfriend shot out my headlight
She was standing, in the road, so I smashed her toes
Mashed my pedal, boom, down she goes
Law ain't lying, long hairs flying
We flipped the skeez off, dumb girl starts crying
Baby called the cops, now I'm getting nervous
The cops see a beeper and the suckers might serve us
Hit a side street and what did we find?
Some young punk, dropping me a flip off sign
Put the deuce in reverse, and started to curse
Another sucker on the south side about to get hurt
Homey got scared, so I got on
Yeah my group got paid, but my groups still strong
Posse moved north, headin for the CD
Riding real fast so the cops don't see me
Mis-matched tires got my boys uptight
Two Vogues on the left, Uniroyal on the right
Hooptie bouncing, running on leaded
This is what I sport when you call me big-headed
I pot-hole crusher, red light rusher
Musher of a brother 'cause I'm plowing over suckers

In a hooptie

It's a three-ton monster, econo-box stomper
Snatch your girly, if you don't I'll romp 'er
Dinosaur rush, looking like Shaft
Some get bold, but some get smashed
Cops say the car smokes, but I won't listen
It's a six-nine deuce, so the hell with emissions
Rolling in Tacoma, I could get burned
(Sound of automatic gunfire) Betta make a u-turn
Spotted this freak with immense posterior
Trying to roll smooth through the Hilltop area
Brother start letting off, kicking that racket
Thinking I'm a rock star, slinging them packets
I ain't wit' dat, so I smooth eject
Hit I-5 with the dope cassette
Playing that tough crew hardcore dope
The tape deck broke
Damn what's next, brothers in Goretex
Trying to find a spot where we could hunt for sex
Found a little club called the N-C-O
Military, competition. You know.
I ain't really fazed, 'cause I pop much game
Rolled up tough, 'cause I got much fame
"How ya doing baby, my name is Mixalot"
"Mixalot got a Benz boy, quit smoking that rock"
Ooooh, I got dissed. But it ain't no thing
Running that game with the home made slang
Baby got ished, Bremelo gip.
Keep laughing at the car and you might get clipped

By a hooptie

Running outta gas, stuck in traffic
Far left lane, throwing up much static
Input, output, carbeurator fulla soot
"Whatcha want me to do Mix?"
Push freak, push
Sputter, sputter rolling over gutters
Cars dip low with hard core brothers
Tank on E, pulled into Arco
Cops on tip for Columbian cargo
We fit a stereotype, that's what he said
Big long car, four big black heads
Cops keep jocking, grabbing like 'gators
'Bout stereotypes, I'm looking nuthing like Noriega
Cop took my wallet, looked at my license
His partner said "Damn, they all look like Tyson"
Yes, I'm legit, so they gotta let me go
This bucket ain't rolling in snow

It's my hooptie