i-songtexte.com | Songtext/Lyric Professor Booty von Beastie-Boys
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Beastie Boys
Professor Booty
Well, I got more bounce to the fuckin bump And then you want to know Why its cause Im motherfuckin truckin Im in the pocket just like Grady Tate I got supplies of beats so you dont have to wait Cause Im the master blaster Drinking up the shasta My voice sounds sweet cause it has to So light a match to my ass cause Im blown up Id like to thank the people for just showin up But now I want yall to move it Put your point on the floor and just prove it And Im smurfin not rehearsin gettin live yall A little puffy so you know what Im doin right Cause thats the kind of frame of mind Im in I got a feelin thats back again So dont touch me cause Im electric And if you touch me youll get shocked!
Youve got the boomin system But its blasting out doo-doo You think its chocolate milk But its watered down yoo-hoo Ive been through many times In which I thought I might lose it The only thing that saved me Has always been music Weve got our own studio the son of the G Its no question lifes been good to me Cause life aint nothing but a good groove A good mix tape to put you in the right mood This one goes out to my man the Groove Merchant Coming through with beats For which Ive been searching Like two sealed copies of expansions Im like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions The logo I sport is the face of the monkey Union made Ben Davis quality its no junk see My chrome is shining just like an icicle I ride around town on my low-rider bicycle.
So many wack M.C.s You get the T.V. bozack Aint even gonna call out your names Cause youre so wack But one big oaf whose faker than plastic A dictionary definition of the word spastic You should have never started something That you couldnt finish Cause writin rhymes to me Is like Popeye to spinach Im bad ass move your fat ass Cause youre wack son Dancin around like you think youre Janet Jackson Thought you could walk on me To get some ground to walk on Ill put the rug out under your ass As I talk on Ill take you out like a sniper on a roof Like an M.C. at the fever in the D.J. booth With your headphones strapped Youre rockin rewind pause Tryin to figure out what you can do to go for yours But liek the pencil to the paper I got more to come One after another you can all get some So you getter take your time And meditate on your rhyme Cause your shitll be stinking When I go for mine And thats right yall dont get uptight yall You cant say shit Because youre biting what I write yall And thats wrong yall over the long haul You cant cut the mustard When youre fronting it all
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