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