nicely drawn R.I.P. Adam Yauch (MCA) Now here's a little story I gots to tell, about three bad brothers you know so well. It started way back in history with Adrock, MCA and me, Mike D.
I had a little horsey named Paul Revere. Just me and my horsey and a quart of beer. Ridin' cross the land, kickin' up sand. Sheriff's posses on my tail cuz I'm in demand. One lonely Beastie I be, all by myself without nobody. The sun is beatin' down on my baseball hat. The air is gettin' hot, the beer is gettin' flat. Lookin' for a girl, I ran into a guy. His name is MCA, I said "howdy", he said "hi."
He told a little story that sounded well rehearsed. Four days on the run and now he's dying of thirst. The brew was in my hand, and he was on my tip. His voice was hoarse, his throat was dry, he asked me for a sip. He said "Can I get some?" I said "You can't get none." I had a chance to run, but he pulled out his shotgun. Quick on the draw, I thought I'd be dead. He put the gun to my head and this is what he said: "My name is MCA, I got a license to kill. I think you know what time it is, it's time to get ill. So what do we have here? An outlaw and his beer. I run this land, you understand, I've made myself clear.