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!