1. Wednesday, December 4, 2002

    “Professor Booty” 

    (Beastie Boys/Caldato)

    Well, I got more bounce to the fuckin’ bump

    And you want to know why?

    It’s ’cause I’m motherfuckin’ 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 ass ’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 now what I’m doin’ right

    ‘Cause that’s the kind 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 ass 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 pull the rug out from 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 like the pencil to the paper I got more to come

    One after another you can all get some

    So you better 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 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