Lyrics Shadrach - Beastie Boys, Peanut Butter Wolf

Shadrach

Riddle me this, my 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
Well, who shall inherit the earth?
The meek shall
And, yo, I think I’m starting to peak now, Al
And the man upstairs, well, I hope that he cares
If I had a penny for my thoughts, I’d be a millionaire
We’re just three emcees, and we’re on the go
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego!
Only 24 hours in a day, only 12 notes, well, a man can play
Music for all, but not just one people
And now we’re gonna bust with the Putney Swope sequel
More Adidas sneakers than a plumber’s got pliers
Got more suits than Jacoby & Meyers
If not for my vices, and my bugged-out desires
My year would be good just like Goodyear’s tires
Cause I’m out picking pockets at the Atlantic Antic
And nobody wants to hear you because your rhymes are damn frantic
I mix business with pleasure way too much
You know -- wine and women and song and such
I don’t get blue -- I got a mean red streak
You don’t pay the band, your friends, yo, that’s weak
Get even like Steven like pulling a Rambo
Well, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego!
Steal from the rich, and I’m out robbing banks
Givin' to the poor, and I always give thanks
Because I’ve got more stories than J.D.'s got Salinger
I hold the title, and you are the challenger
I’ve got money like Charles Dickens
I’ve got the girlies in the Coupe like the Colonel’s got the chickens
And I’m always going out dapper like Harry S. Truman
I’m madder than Mad’s Alfred E. Newman
(Never gonna let them say that I don’t love you)
Well, my noggin is hoggin' all kinds of thoughts
And 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
Like 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, Homes
(Being very proud to be an MC)
And the man upstairs, well, 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
Because the bass is bumping from the back of my Fleetwood
They tell us what to do?
Hell, no!
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego (no)
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego