I heard there was a rumor Too $hort was dead

Walked in the house and got shot in the head

I know you don't believe it, if you do you're wrong

How can I die and rock it all night long?

I'm Too $hort baby, spit that rap

I put Oakland, California on the map

It's so hard, got you telling lies

Can't hold me back so you say I died

It's incredible, I came back to life

I never let 'em bury me without my mic

I keep breathing, don't stop that breath

Now everybody's talking about Too $hort's death

Am I a zombie, or something close?

I'm not Casper, I mack all the ghosts

Oaktown style is the only way

I catch a new freak every day

It's not the Yellow Brick Road, it's called the Foothill Strip

Stand on your toes, make your heels go click

Three times, it's no place like home

So why you wanna bury me all alone

I bring a new meaning to underground rap

Dead or Alive, I'm still Born to Mack

Always on the pop charts, straight rapping

I'm not dead, I'm just macking



So as the word turns, I'm a living soul

I even heard a rumor that I overdosed

I'm not a reincarnation of something old

Like King Tut I was buried in gold

Why you wanna cry when I'm still living?

Word got out and the rumors started spreading

My momma, called one night

Said "Todd, are you all right?

The whole family's got the Too $hort blues

I heard it last night on the evening news"

And that's bad, it's not even true

I told my momma like this "Let's sue"

So many times, I heard I died

I guess I'm like a cat and I got nine lives

Well I'm the P-L-A, Y-E-R

I lay bunnies, like Hugh Heffner

I'm her flavor, kinda saucy

I lay back and let the young freak toss me

Even if she don't like serving a pimp

I'm still living, so let's do it again

I keep rapping, hard as hell

Cause your rumors make my records sell

If you continue, I'll soon be rich

Riding around town going "Biiiitch!"



People always say "Too $hort can't rap"

Now I drive a Benz and my bank is fat

It's like crap, put a "c" on a rhyme

Ain't nothing left homie but a scandalous crime

I'm the best damn rapper you could ever hate

Say I died on the freeway in the earthquake

Say I'm washed up, say I'm through

But the fact still stands I'm better than you

You got rhymes? Well I got more

I take you on a trip to my rappin' store

You find rhymes and raps, poems and caps

Way more raps than any rapper could rap

Cause if you rap like me, he wouldn't have to be

Weak on the mic like my boy MC

It don't stop, to the funky beat

I know you like dancing with a real big freak

I can't dance, but I sure can rhyme

I sold a million, in '89

And if you didn't know baby, it's the 90's now

Old Short Dog got a new breakdown

I went to Miko's, fresh candy paint

Now I'm doing things that the suckers can't

If I was dead, they'd call it "Dead Man's Rap"

But on the real, Short Dog is back



Funk funky, off the Parliament

I'm still living, so let's do it again

It's incredible, even if I die

I never let 'em bury me without my mic

I bring a new meaning, to underground rap

Dead or alive, I'm still Born to Mack

I say "What's up" to my homies in Santa Rita

Right about now I know you need a

Too $hort rhyme to get you through the day

Oaktown style is the only way

I came up, and now I've sworn

To rock this mic til I can't no more

And that's game, straight pop the most

MC rapper from the West Coast

Too $hort, dead or alive

I still chill on the Eastside

Cause I remember how it all began

House parties in East Oakland

Now it's on the pop charts, still rapping

I'm not dead, I'm just macking