Nonstop Disco Powerpack

Well, how you feeling, Ad-Rock?

Well, I'm feeling well

Bonafide, qualified, with a story to tell

Well, how you feeling, Mike D?

Well, I feel all good

All day is how we play in the neighborhood

Well, how you feeling, MCA?

Well, I feel right

I speak my words on the track 'cause the track sounds tight

Well, if you're feeling good and you're feeling right

Uh, somebody step up and grab the mic

Hello everybody and how you been?

It's Ad-Rock rappin' on the microphone again

I got grace, class, style, finesse, and debonair

Murdalize 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

Nonstop, going off, kingpin, microphone boss

Do my own thing you, can't afford the cost

Of my style, take you through a turnstile

'Cause I'm live and direct, and I'm wicked and wild

Because I'm back on a roll, got total control

I flow like the water out your toiler bowl

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-ha, huh-ha, and that's a fact

'Cause we shine like the chrome on a Cadillac

You better break a wishbone 'cause we never wack

Said we're never that and that is that

And we're the nonstop disco powerpack

Uh, that's right, we go all night

Who gonna be next to bless the mic?

Now this it the way we run it down

We're gettin' you high on the funky sounds

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 and fix ya, like a rhyme elixir

"Yo-yo, sound man, make Mike's mic louder"

Don't make me sound cheap like a box of douche powder

I max and relax, champagne mojito

Don't go commando, don't know bandito

Je m'appelle Michel Perignon

Me and Claude in the chateau, we got it going on

Quincy's in the hot tub like it's '73

Looking over his shoulder and he's looking at me

I'm all white in the face, towel around my waist

What's up with that watch inside that glass case?

I got to make my move, sneak out the place

Undetected, not leaving a trace

Party's done, microphone's wrecked

Wines been drunk and heads been checked

I see one last profiterole and make my play

And pass the microphone to MCA

Nonstop, on the top, and you clock, when we rock

Never fakin', no mistakin', we be makin' hip hop

So come on everybody, get down, yeah

Now it's a spot check, hit the deck, count down

'Cause I'ma break it down for you how we run it down

Pound for pound, keep the bass lines round

I seen you watchin', clockin', jockin' my sound

But, for real, I been glad I grew up in hip hop

Still got mad love for a record called "Beat Bop"

It meant a lot spinning on my Walkman

Shout out to the African Bam

And to the S to the P the double O-N-Y

The one MC who you can't deny

I'd listen to the records and they'd inspire

Sit down to write and the pen breathes fire

Construct a rhyme with specific intent

Flowin' from and brain cells right to my pen

And then I put the book down, grab ahold the mic

Words flowin' so cold, turn water to ice

Come through the wire, saturate the tape

You put me in the mix, nice it up with the plate

And then they press it on wax, sell it in the store

The DJ spin the record out on the dance floor

Comin' through the speaker to shake your eardrum

Brain cells get lit, then you hear where we're comin' from

Well, Ad-Rock (huh), get it on

We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn

Mike D (huh), get it on

We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn

MCA (a-yeah), get it on

We gonna rock the house until the break of dawn

Beastie Boys in the house, don't stop