Ch-check it out de Beastie Boys

all you trekkies and tv addicts
don’t mean to dis don’t mean to bring static
all you klingons in the fuckin’ house
grab your backstreet friend and get loud
blowin’ doors off hinges,
i’ll grab you with the pinchers
nd no i didn’t retire.
i’ll snatch you up with the needle nose pliers.

like mutual of omaha,
got the ill boat2 you’ve never seen before.
gliding in the glades,
and like lorne greene you know i get paid.
like caprese with the basil,
not goofy like darren or hazel,
i’m a mother fucking nick at night
with classics rerunning that you know all right.

now remain calm no alarm cause my farm ain’t fat,
so what’s up with that?
i’ve got friends and family that i respect
when i think i’m too good they put me in check.
so believe when i say i’m no better than you,
except when i rap so i guess it ain’t true.
like that y’all and you just don’t stop,
guaranteed to make your body rock.

check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
what-wha-what-what-what’s it all about
work-wa-work-work-work-wa-work it out
let’s turn this motherfuckin’ party out

i said, “doc, what’s the condition?
i’m a man that’s on a mission.”
he said, “son, you’d better listen
stuck in your ass is an electrician”
like a scientist,
mmmm when i’m applying this
method of controlling my mind
like einstein and the rappin’ duke combined.

hey baby bubba now what the deal?
i didn’t know you go for that mass appeal.
some call it salugi, some hot potato
i stole your mic and you won’t see it later,
‘cause i work magic like a magician
i add up like a mathematician.
i’m a bank cashier, engineer,
i wear cotton but i don’t wear sheer.

shazam and abracadabra
in the whip i’m gonna cruise past ya.
yo money, don’t chump yourself.
put that shit back on the shelf.
light rays blazin’
you’re out of phase and
my crews amazin’.
we’re working on the record yo so stay patient.

check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
what-wha-what-what-what’s it all about
work-wa-work-work-work-wa-work it
out let’s turn this motherfuckin’ party out

i go by the name of the king adrock.
i don’t wear a cup nor a jock nor a thong.
i bring the shit that’s beyond bizarre,
like miss piggy. “who moi?”
i am the one with the clientele.
you say, “adrock, god you rock so well.”
i’ve got class like pink champale.
mca grab the mic before the mic goes stale.

don’t test me. they can’t arrest me.
i’ll fake right cross-over and shoot lefty.
you look upset yo calm down.
you look cable guy dunked off of your crown.
i flow like smoke out a chimney. you never been me.
you wanna rap but what you’re making ain’t hip hop b.

get your clothes right out the dryer.
put armor all up on your tire.
sport that fressssh attire.
tonight we goin’ out set the town on fire.
set the town ablaze.
gonna stun and amaze.
ready to throw a craze.
make your granny shake her head and say, “those were the days.”

check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
what-wha-what-what-what’s it all about
work-wa-work-work-work-wa-work it out
let’s turn this motherfuckin’ party out