Nonstop Disco Powerpack

How you feeling, Adrock? Well, I'm feeling well Bonafide, qualified, with a story to tell How you feeling, Mike D? Well, I feel all good All day it's how we play in the neighborhood 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 Now hello everybody and how you been? It's Adrock 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 The non-stop, goin' 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 toilet 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 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 I said, "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 Pérignon Me and Claude in the chateau and 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 go to make my move, sneak out of the place Undetected, not leaving a trace Party's done, microphone's wrecked Wine's 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 c'mon everybody get down... yeah) Now there's a spot check, hit the deck count down Cause I'm a 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'm real 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 the brain cells, 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 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 speakers to shake your eardrum Brain cells get lit, then you hear where we're comin' from Well, Adrock (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 Beatsie Boys in the house don't stop