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