Riddle me this, 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
It's 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 then the man upstairs I hope that he cares
If I had a penny for my thoughts I'd be a millionaire
We're just three M.C.'s and we're on the go
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego (Shadrach, Meshach, Abednago)

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah
Only twenty-four hours in a day
Only twelve notes that a man can play
Music for all and 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 (well)
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 and that's weak
Get even like Steven, like pulling a Rambo
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego (Shadrach, Meshach, Abednago)

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah
Steal from the rich and I'm out robbing banks
Give it to the poor and I always give thanks
Because they got more stories than J.D's got Salinger
I hold the title and you are the challenger
I've got money like Charles Dickens
I've got the girlies in the Couple like the Colonel's got the chickens
And I always go out dapper like Harry S. Truman
I'm madder than Mad's Alfred E. Newman
(Never gonna let them say that I don't love you)
Well, my noggin is hoggin' all kinds of thoughts
Adam Yoggin is Yauch and he's rockin' of course
Smoke the holy chalice got my own religion
Rally round the stage and check the funky dope musicians
Just 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 on 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 M.C.)
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
The bass is bumpin' from the back of my Fleetwood
They tell us what to do, hell no
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego (Shadrach, Meshach, Abednago) hey Writer/s: Adam Horovitz, Adam Nathaniel Yauch, John Robert King, Matt Dike, Michael Louis Diamond, Michael S. Simpson
Publisher: BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind