Hey F*** You - Beastie Boys
Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book? Look give it back you're wicky wack With your ticky tack calls didn't touch you at all I didn't touch your hand man you know its all ball You sold a few records but don't get slick 'Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits You've been in the game, your career is long But when you break it down you've only got 2 songs MC's are like clay pigeons and I'm shootn' skeet I just yell pull and MMM drops the beat You people call yourselves MC's but you're garbage men Takin' out the trash when you pull out the pen And if you don't like then hey F*** you! I read about you up on page 6 They was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed Now talk about your face now don't get pissed But I suggest you see a dermatologist I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak It's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak I've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex 'Cause I've got more rhymes than Carl Sagan's got turtlenecks Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch You're hearing me and you're like "oh my god its Sasquatch!" I'm walkin' on water while you're stepping in shit So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets lit And if you don't like then hey F*** you! So put a quarter in your ass cause you played yourself Sucker MC's it's me they're resenting In the animal kingdom they call it presenting With the dipsy doodle the kit and caboodle The truth is brutal your grandma's kugel Kings County is my stomping ground The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown So don't ask me to wine and dine ya I'm from Brooklyn you're from Regina You're like Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam You're just yellin' and wildin' wondering who I am With those lies you're telling you look like Toucan Sam But my style's impregnable like the Hoover Da
Artist: Beastie Boys
Title: Hey F*** You