3-Minute Rule - Beastie Boys

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

Roses are red, the sky is blue

I got my barrel at your neck, so what the fuck 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 shit

Man, I was making records when you were suckin' your mother’s dick

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 motherfucker

You slipin', you slackin', cause you’re a false fake sucker

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