Mic check, mic check
One, one, two, two, three, three
Too many rappers and there's still not enough MCs
It goes three, three, two, two, one, one
MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done
Like ladies and gents, attention
Nas in the house with Beastie Boys
We can turn it out
Perpetrators, we can point 'em out
So if you've got something on your mind, let it out
Like a Nexus-6, comin' home to roost
Handheld 58 when it's time to get loose
Don't need the ear goggles, just put me through the speakers
Like a scientist with tubes and beakers
Have MCs over my house and fix 'em brunch
But you rappers? We goin' out, goin' dutch
So pass me the sword, I'll start swingin'
Just randomly chopping on a crazy ass mission
Because I'm back with a bang, boogie oogie oogie
Strawberry Letter 23 like Shuggie
Oh my god, just look at me
Grandpa been rappin' since '83
I'm supersonic like J.J. Fad
Got crazy-ass shit pullin' out the bag
Don't forget the tartar sauce, yo, 'cause it's sad
All these crab rappers, they're rapping like crabs
I have carte blanche, the vagabond
Nas is the narcissist, my pockets are rotund
I'm no killer, but compared to you, I'm more realer
You ain't a shot caller mobster or a drug dealer
A slug peeler, you're not, mafioso, no
You ain't got the cut-throat in ya, beginner
I ain't tryin' to hear your racket, you work for police
Dog, you snitch, you rat, you wear that jacket
How many rappers must get dissed?
Gimme eight bars and watch me bless this
I start to reminisce when I miss
The real hip-hop with which I persist
Like rum and mojitos, bullets and banditos
Matzo balls and soup, jackets and troop
Yes, y'all, this is one is for the history books
Nasty Nas, what's the word? Count it off in the hook
One, two, three, too many rappers
And there's still not enough MCs, it goes three, two, one
MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done
Like ladies and gents, attention
Nas in the house with Beastie Boys
We can turn it out
Perpetrators, we can point 'em out
So if you've got something on your mind, let it out
'Cause this the type of lyric that goes inside your brain
To blow you bullshit rappers straight out the frame
My lyrics spin 'round like a hurricane twister
So get your hologram on off of Wolf Blitzer
Too many rappers to shake a stick at
I ought to charge a tax for every weak rap I had to listen to
'Cause we've been makin' stacks like Stax Records
My squad, we got a pact, we're never comin' wack
To all you crab rappers, and hackers
And circuit benders tweaked on Splenda
I take the cake, I stole the mold
The golden microphone, well, that's mine to hold
Now why all these biters all up in my crotchspace
Sniffin', buffin', huffin'
And mean muggin' with the Blimpie Bluffin'
Back up off me, sucker, you ain't sayin' nothin'
I'm broader than Broadway, I was the project hallway
Dual tape recorder, lacing oratorials all day
I'm just gettin' started on this beat, this is foreplay
And when the song's finished, I can sing along with this
By the way, I have a strong fetish for Christian Louboutin steppers
I hear Russian blonde's the wettest
But anyway, y'all better pay homage to my fellas
And that's what's on my mind and on the rhyme, who's next up?
Mike D, the man of mystery
History in the making and now we're taking
Titles, awards, and accolades
Skewer the competition as I sharpen my blades
We come together like peanut butter and sandwiches
Like pen and paper, like Picasso and canvases
Rockin' stadiums to shitty bars
Go back in time, send a fax from my car
One, two, three, too many rappers
And there's still not enough MCs, it goes three, two, one
MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done
Like ladies and gents, attention
Nas in the house with Beastie Boys
We can turn it out
Perpetrators, we can point 'em out
So if you've got something on your mind, let it out

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