[Verse 1: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

1977 was a no cocaine in my hood-ject

The brothers was stuck on Chuck without a mind set

I got tired of watchin "Good Times"

feelin like J.J., I'm standin in the food bank line

My momma was ridin on the bus tryna get to work

Early in the morn', it's cold and her knees hurt

She got a .38 sittin in her purse

Cause my moms was the King County Jail nurse

So how in the hell could you tell Mix

That I never lived this, when you was just a snotty nose age six

Young buck, just graduate

And your lyin when you say your street educated

Cause I'ma veteran boy and you's a new booty

So stop frontin to your friends like you knew me

Cause you don't and you never did, kid

So FUCK your respect and the shit you claim ya did

To all ya real, when ya claimin ya gang bang

Doin everythin to gain fame and get yourself a name

But I done seen my homies gettin smoked over dice games

When you was still at home doin nice things

Back in the days of turtle wax on Cadillacs

Life to a brother was hoes and macks

I had to come up some way

Pimp daddies and ex-Black Panthers used to school me

Why moms was puttin in eight to twelve

I was in the hood gettin schooled on makin mail

I can't let my moms die a poor black sister

Gotta make her richer

So tell me what's real, partner



[Break: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

(Da-da-da-down for mine)

(You gon' buy me a motherfuckin car?)

So what's real fool?

(Da-da-da-down for mine)

(You gon' buy me a motherfuckin car?)



[Verse 2: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Back when MLK Way was Empire Way

I was stuck on broke, but I used to hear pimps say

Better get what you can get before you get got

Come up and snatch yours and buy yourself a nice spot

And that's stuck in my head 'til this day G

So I apply pimp game to life you see

But I ain't beatin on my sister in the streets

I'ma focus on my real enemy, yeah

So if I'm pimpin, then who's my hoeys

In D.C. livin in a big white house bro

Changes his name every four years

Mr. Carter caught me slippin, but Reagan wasn't gettin his

I never wanted a hand out young Jake

I never got jealous over how much a brother makes

So I was on my own, no love in the school zone

No blacks in the books, so I'm gone

And now the only color that I love is green see

Cause my history books never taught me about me

I may not like where I've been, but I'm lovin where I am

Prime rib, fuck Spam

So tell me what's real partner



[Break: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

(I fought back, then heat check)

(You gon' buy me a motherfuckin car?)

So what's real fool

(I fought back, then heat check)

(You gon' buy me a motherfuckin car?)



[Interlude: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Yeah, I'd much rather be behind the mic, then the gat

But the simple fact that my pockets is fat

Means I can't relax, you know what I'm sayin?

Haha



[Verse 3: Sir Mix-A-Lot]

Criticized by the main stream

For not bein the house jig and keepin things squeaky clean

But I can't, so I ain't

But I won't play the hard role just because you think

that is real, to say you kill, when you never held steel

You try to sing when you rollin in cake-ville

Back in the days you was breakdancin see

I remember when you had tight pants G

So Mr. Rap Critic when you trys to check me

about my cars and my girls, claimin you never could respect me

You really think I give a damn partner?

The shit I've been through man

I used to roll with the hoes

Hit the Caddy, slam the doors

Livin alone, cellular phone

Havin no furniture in my home

Rollin to Canada, makin my mail

Givin a trick a piece of tail

Livin it large, keepin it hard

Life was kinda odd

And rat a tat tat with my gat, sat in my lap G

The Hilton Hotel was my spot, I'm runnin my things see

I went from hustlin cheese, to double platinum LPs

But you still can't feel me

Boy the head don't get fat if you know where your at

Instead of ridin my back, check your own dat and that's facts

Now what's real partner



[Outro: Sir Mix-A-Lot - talking]

Haha, so what's real?

Yeah and all you clown runnin around town

Tellin people me and yous was down

When I was doin parties at the Boy's Club

You was sellin match books of weed, partner

I was about handlin my business

And you was about smokin your gri-nass

So check yourself, you wanna see the big head champ

And that's real to the fullest and I'm out