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Well how you feelin' Ad Rock? Well I'm feelin' well Bonafide, qualified, with a story to tell Well how you 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 speak my words on the track 'cause the track sound tight So if you're feelin' good and you're feelin' right Uh, 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 Murdalize motherfuckers 'cause I just don't care The MC 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 nonstop, goin' off, kingpin, microphone boss Do my own thing, you can't afford the cost Of my rhyme style that complete the turnstile 'Cause it's live and direct, and I'm wicked and wild Back on the roll, 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 Ha-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 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 and 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, champagne, mojito Don't go commando, don't know bandito Je m'appelle Michel, Perignon Me and Claude in the chateau, we got it goin' on Quincy's in the hot tub like it's '73 Lookin' over his shoulder and he's lookin' at me I'm all white 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 wrecked Wine's been drunk, and head's been checked I see one last profiterole, I make my play And pass the microphone to MCA Nonstop, On the top, and you clock, then we rock Never fakin', no mistakin', we be makin' hip hop So c'mon everybody get down Now it's a spot check, hit the deck count down 'Cause I'ma break it down for ya how we run it down Pound for pound, keep the basslines round See you watchin', clockin', jockin' my sound But for real, I'm real glad I grew up with hip hop Still got mad love for a record called Beat Bop It mean a lot spinnin' on my Walkman Shout out to the Afrika 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 blazed fire Construct a rhyme with specific intent Flowin' from the braincells right through the 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 at the plate And then they press it on wax, sell it in the store The DJ's spin the record out on the dancefloor Comin' through the speakers to shake your eardrum Braincells get lit, then you hear where we're comin' 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