Beastie Boys

Paul’s Boutique

Grand Royal Records


Riddle me this brother can you handle it

Your style to my style you can’t hold a candle to it

Equinox symmetry and the balance is right

Smokin’ and drinkin’ on a Tuesday night

It’s not how you play the game it’s how you win it

I cheat and steal and sin and I’m a cynic

For those about to rock we salute you

The dirty thoughts for dirty minds we contribute to

I once was lost but now I’m found

The music washes over and you’re one with the sound

Who shall inherit the earth? the meek shall!

I think I’m starting to peak now, Al

and the man upstairs I hope that he cares

If I had a penny for my thoughts I’d be a millionaire

We’re just 3 M.C.’s and we’re on the go


Only 24 hours in a day

Only 12 notes a man can play

Music for all and not just one people

And now we’re gonna bust with the Putney Swope sequel

More Adidas sneakers that a plumber got pliers

Got more suits than Jacoby & Meyers

If not for my vices my bugged out desires

My year would be good just like Goodyear’s tires

So I’m out pickin’ pockets at the Atlantic Antic

And nobody wants to hear you cause your rhymes are so frantic

I mix business with pleasure way too much

I mean wine and women and song and such

I don’t get blue I gotta mean red streak

You don’t pay to play, yo, man, that’s weak

Get even like Steven like pulling a Rambo


Steal from the rich and I’m out robbing banks

Give to the poor and I always give thanks

Got more stories that J.D. Salinger

I hold the title and you are the challenger

I’ve got money like Charles Dickens

Got the girlies in the hoopty like the Colonel’s got the chickens

Always go out dapper like Harry S. Truman

Inventor of Mad? Alfred E. Newman.

*Never gonna let them say that I don’t love you*

My noggin is hoggin all kinds of thoughts

Adam Yoggin is Yauch and he’s rockin of course

Smoke the holy chalice got my own religion

Rally round the stage and check the funky dope musicians

Jerry Lee Swaggart or Jerry Lee Falwell

You love Mario Andretti cause he always drives his car well

Vicious circle of reality since the day you were born

And we love the hot butter on what? the popcorn.

Sippin on wine and mackin

Rockin on the stage with all the hands clappin

Ride the wave of fate, it don’t ride me, boy

*Being very proud to be an M.C.*

And the man upstairs I hope that he cares

If I had a penny for my thoughts I’d be a millionaire

Amps and crossovers under my rear hood

The bass is bumpin from the back of my Fleetwood

They tell us what to do? hell no


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