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!