Nonstop Disco Powerpack

(Well how you feelin Ad Rock?) Well I'm feelin well Bonafide, qualified, with a story to tell (Well how feelin Mike D?) Well I feel all good All day is how we play in the neighborhood (Well how you feelin MCA?) Well I feel right I swing my words on the track cause the track sound tight (So if you're feelin good and you're feelin right) (Uhh, somebody step up and grab the mic) Well hello everybody and how you been It's Ad Rock rappin on the microphone again I got grace class style finesse and debonaire Murderalize motherfuckers cause I just don't care The Emcee Whisperer kinda like a trainer I take sucker rappers, I put 'em through a strainer Like macaroni cause the shit sound cheesy Watch how it's done boy, it looks easy The non-stop, goin off, kingpin, microphone boss do my own thing, you can't afford the cost of my fly styles that complete the turnstile Cause it's live and direct, and I'm wiggidy wild! Now get your ass on the floor, I got total control I flow like the water out your toilet bowls Your style is cheap boy, just like a Dutch You know you're not smokin on the microphone much There's a certain special talent that I never lack Huh hah huh hah! And that's a fact Cause we shine like the chrome on a Cadillac You better break a wishbone cause we never wack Then, we never that and that is that And we're the nonstop disco powerpack! Uhh, that's right, we go all night Who gonna be next to bless the mic? Now this is the way we run it down We're gettin you high on the funky sound This is the way we get it on B-Boys in the house 'til the break of dawn See I mix my style up like a cement mixer Smooth'll fix ya like a rhyme elixir Hey yo yo soundman, make Mike's mic louder Don't make me sound cheap like a box of douche powder I'll max and relax, champag-no ego Don't know commando, don't know bandito Je m'appelle Michele, very long Me and Dawn in the shack and we got it goin on Prince he's in the hot tub like it's seventy-three Lookin over his shoulder and he's lookin at me I'm up right in the face, towel around my waist What's up with that watch inside the glass case? I go to make my move, sneak out the place Undetected! Not leavin a trace Party's done, microphone threat Rhymes been jumped, and heads been checked I see one last profiterol, I make my play And pass the microphone to MCA Non-stop, from the top, when you clock, then we rock Them not kickin, them not stickin, we be makin hip-hop (So c'mon everybody get down... yeah) Now there's a spot check, get the dead count down Cause I'ma break it down for ya how we burn it down Pound for pound, keep the basslines round See you rockin, clockin, checkin my sound but I grew up with hip-hop Still got mad love for a record called "Beat Rock" It mean a lot spinnin on my Walkman Shoutout, to the Afrika Bam' And to the X to the {?} the double-O-N-Y The one emcee, who you can't deny At least he threw me records, that made heads fly Sit down to write and the pen blazed fire Construct a rhyme, with specific intent Flippin all the braincells right to the pen And then I put the root down when I hold the mic Words flowin so cold turn water to ice Come through to rock such a rate to tape You put me in the mix like {?} up at the plate And then they press it on wax, sell it in the store The DJ's screamin kick it out on the dancefloor Comin through the speaker to shake your eardrum Braincells get with it make you hear where we're from Ad Rock, HUH! Get it on We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn Now Mike D, HUH! Get it on We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn And MCA (yeah) get it on We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn Beastie Boys in the house, don't stop!