Dust Brothers - 3-Minute Rule lyrics

[Produced by Beastie Boys & Dust Brothers] [Mike D] I stay up all night, I go to sleep watching Dragnet Never sleep alone because Jimmy is the magnet I'm so rope, they call me Mr. Roper When the troubles arise, you know I'm the cool coper On the mic I score, just like the Yankees Get over on Miss Crabtree like my main man Spankee Excuse me young lady, I don't mean to trouble ya But you're lookin' so fly inside your BMW I got lucky, I brought home the kitten Before I got busy, I slipped on the mitten Can't get better odds because I'm a sure thing Proud Mary keeps on turning and rolling like a Ring-Ding Jump the turnstiles, never pay the toll Doo-wah diddy and bust in with the pre-roll Customs jailed me over an herb seed Don't rat on your boy over some rat weed I'm outta your back door, I'm into another Your boyfriend doesn't know about me and your mother Not perfect grammar, always perfect timing The Mike stands for money and the D is for diamonds [MCA] Roses are red, the sky is blue I got my barrel at your neck, so what the f** you gonna do It's just two wheels and me, the wind in my eyes The engine is the music and my nine's by my side Cause you know Y-A-U-C-H I'm taking all emcees out in the place Takin' life as it comes, no fool am I I'm goin' off, gettin' paid, and I don't ask why Playin' beats on my box, makin' music for the many Know a lot of def girls that'll do anything A lot of parents like to think I'm a villain I'm just chillin', like Bob Dylan Yeah, I smoke cheeba, it helps me with my brain I might be a little dusted but I'm not insane People come up to me and they try to talk sh** Man, I was making records when you were s**in' your mother's dick [Ad-Rock] Girl, you're walking tall now in your fancy clothes You got fancy things, they're going up your nose You're getting fancy gifts from expensive men You're a dog on a leash, like a pig in a pen Mothership connection, getting girls' affection If your life needs correction, don't follow my direction You got your 8 by 10, your agent, your Harley You be driving around Hollywood with yo, 'Sorry, Charlie' Cause I'm running things like some mack motherf**er You slipin', you slackin', cause you're a false fake s**er You slip, you slack; you clock me, and you lack While I'm reading "On The Road" by my man, Jack Kerouac Poetry in motion, coconut lotion Had to diss the girl because she got too emotional Are you experienced, little girl? I want to know what goes on in your little girl world Cause I'm on your mind, it's hard to forget me I'll take your pride for a ride if you let me So peace out, y'all, a PCP, song out Full throttle to the bottle and full, full clout And I'm out