Professor Booty Lyrics

Professor Booty

(Beastie Boys/Caldato) 

     Well, I got more bounce to the f**kin' bump
     And then you want to know
     Why it's cause I'm motherf**kin' 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 has to
     So light a match to my as* 'cause I'm blown up
     I'd like to thank the people for just showin' up
     But now I want y'all to move it
     Put your point on the floor and just prove it
     And I'm smurfin not rehearsin' gettin' live y'all
     A little puffy so you know what I'm doin' right
     'Cause that's the kind of frame of mind I'm in
     I got a feelin' that's back again
     So don't touch me 'cause I'm electric
     And if you touch me you'll get shocked!

     You've got the boomin' system
     But it's blasting out doo-doo
     You think it's chocolate milk
     But it's watered down yoo-hoo
     I've been through many times
     In which I thought I might lose it
     The only thing that saved me
     Has always been music
     We've got our own studio the son of 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
     This one goes out to my man the Groove Merchant
     Coming through with beats
     For which I've been searching
     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 on my low-rider bicycle.

     So many wack M.C.'s
     You get the T.V. bozack
     Ain't even gonna call out your names 
     'Cause you're 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 couldn't finish
     'Cause writin' rhymes to me
     Is like Popeye to spinach
     I'm bad as* move your fat ass
     'Cause you're wack son
     Dancin' around like you think you're Janet Jackson
     Thought you could walk on me
     To get some ground to walk on
     I'll put the rug out under 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 headphones strapped
     You're 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 shit'll be stinking
     When I go for mine
     And that's right y'all don't get uptight y'all
     You can't say shit
     Because you're biting what I write y'all
     And that's wrong y'all over the long haul
     You can't cut the mustard
     When you're fronting it all