Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book?
|
Look give it back you're wicky wack
|
With your ticky tack calls didn't touch you at all
|
I didn't touch your hand man you know its all ball
|
You sold a few records but don't get slick
|
'Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits
|
You've been in the game, your career is long
|
But when you break it down you've only got 2 songs
|
MC's are like clay pigeons and I'm shootn' skeet
|
I just yell pull and MMM drops the beat
|
You people call yourselves MC's but you're garbage men
|
Takin' out the trash when you pull out the pen
|
|
And if you don't like then hey fuck you!
|
|
I read about you up on page 6
|
They was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed
|
Now talk about your face now don't get pissed
|
But I suggest you see a dermatologist
|
I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak
|
It's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak
|
I've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex
|
'Cause I've got more rhymes than Carl Sagan's got turtlenecks
|
Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch
|
You're hearing me and you're like "oh my god its Sasquatch!"
|
I'm walkin' on water while you're stepping in shit
|
So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets lit
|
|
And if you don't like then hey fuck you!
|
So put a quarter in your ass cause you played yourself
|
|
Sucker MC's it's me they're resenting
|
In the animal kingdom they call it presenting
|
With the dipsy doodle the kit and caboodle
|
The truth is brutal your grandma's kugel
|
Kings County is my stomping ground
|
The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown
|
So don't ask me to wine and dine ya
|
I'm from Brooklyn you're from Regina
|
You're like Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam
|
You're just yellin' and wildin' wondering who I am
|
With those lies you're telling you look like Toucan Sam
|
But my style's impregnable like the Hoover Dam
|
|
And if you don't like then hey fuck you!
|
|
-----------------
|
Hey F*?# You
|
| Beastie Boys |
