Shadrach

Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey 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 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 MCs, and we're on the go Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, yeah 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 pickin' pockets at the Atlantic Antic And nobody wants to hear you 'cause 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 gotta 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, you know Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, yeah Steal from the rich, and I'm out robbin' banks Give it to the poor, and I always give thanks Because I got more stories than JD's got Salinger I hold the title, and you are the challenger I've got money like Charles Dickens I 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 (Newman) (Oh, I'm never gonna let 'em 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, wow Smoke the Holy Chalice, got my own religion Rally 'round the stage and check the funky dope musicians Like Jerry Lee Swaggert or Jerry Lee Falwell You like 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 (say 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 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 bumpin' 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 Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey, hey