Beastie Boys - Professor BootyLyrics

MCA- Yo I don't hang out with those guys, Man I ain't got nothing to do with those dudes. Adrock- Man I saw your female with too, what's up wit her? Mike D- I hear that she's been giving that stuff out To all them graffiti guys. MCA- Yo shut the fuck up Chico man! Adrock- I'd paint three of those murals for some of that ass. Mike D- Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure? Professor- Why I think it's booty Yes, I got more bounce to the fucking bumpin' And you want to know why because I'm mother fucking truckin' I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate I got supplies of beats, so you don't have to wait 'Cause I'm the master blaster, drinking up the shasta My voice sounds sweet 'cause it hasta So light a match to my ass cause I'm blowin' up I'd like thank you people for just showin' up But now I want y'all to move it Put your point on the floor and just prove it Said I'm smurfin' not rehearsin', getting live y'all A little puffy so you know what I'm doing right 'cause' that's the kind of frame of mind I'm in I got this feelin' and it's back again So don't touch me, cause I'm electric And if you touch me you'll shocked!(echoes out) You got, you got, you got, you got, you got You got the boomin' system but it's blastin' out doo Do you think it's chocolate milk, but it's watered down yoo-hoo I been through many times for which I thought I might lose it The only thing that saved me, has always been music We got our studio, it's under the G It's no question life's been good to me 'Cause' life ain't nothing but a good groove A good mix tape to put you in the right mood Said, this one goes out to my man the groove merchant Coming through with beats, for which I been searchin' Like two sealed copies, of expansions I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions The logo I sport is the face of the monkey Union made, Ben Davis quality it's no junk see My chrome is shining, just like an icicle I ride around town in my low-rider bicycle!(echoes out) So many wack M.C's, you get that T.V. bozak Ain't even gonna call out your names 'cause ya' so wack And one big oaf, who's faker than plastic A dictionary definition of the word spastic You shoulda' never started something you couldn't finish 'Cause' writing rhymes to me is like Popeye to spinach I'm bas ass, move ya' fat ass, 'cause your wack son Dancing around like you think your Janet Jackson Thought you could walk on me to get some kinda' walk I'll pull a rug out from undereath your ass as I talk on I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof Like an m.c. at the fever in the d.j. booth With your head phones strapped, ya' rocking rewind pause Trying to figure out what you to do to go for yours But, like a pencil to a paper I got more to come One after another you can all get some So you better take your time, and meditate on your rhyme 'Cause ya' shit'll be stinking when I go for mine And that's right y'all Don't get uptight y'all You say shit when I bite, when I write y'all And that's wrong y'all Over the long haul You can't cut the mustard when fronting it on,it on (echoes out)