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Mic check, mic check 
 
One, one, two, two, three, three 
Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees 
It goes three, three, two, two, one, one 
MCA, Ad-Rock, 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 got somethin' on your mind, let it out 
 
Yo, I been in the game since before you was born 
I might still be emceein' even after you're gone 
Strange thought, I know, but my skills still grow 
The 80's, the 90's, 2000's, and so 
 
On and on until the crack of dawn 
Until the year 3000 and beyond 
Stay up all night, and I emcee and never die 
'Cause death is the cousin of sleep 
 
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 
 
Oh, 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 crap rappers, they're rappin' like crabs 
 
I have carte blanche, the vagabond 
Nas is the narcissist, my pockets are rotund 
I'm no killa, but compared to you, I'm more real'a 
You ain't a shot, a mobster, or a drug dealer 
 
A slug peeler, you're not, mafioso, no 
You ain't got the cutthroat in ya, beginner 
I ain't tryin' to hear your racket 
You work with 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, oh, when I miss 
The real hip hop with which I persist 
 
Like rum in mojitos, bullets and banditos 
Matzah balls in soup, jackets and troop 
Yes, y'all, this is one for the history books 
Nasty Nas, what's the word, count it off on the hook 
 
Let's go! One, one, two, two, three, three 
Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees 
It goes three, three, two, two, one, one 
MCA, Ad-Rock, 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 got somethin' on your mind, let it out 
 
'Cause this the type of lyric 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 outta charge a tax for every weak rap 
I had to listen to 'cause we be makin' stacks 
Like Stax Records, my squad we gotta pack, we never coming whack 
 
To all you crab rappers and hackers 
And Circuit Fenders, two-tone splendor 
I take the cake, I stole the mold 
 
The golden microphone, well that's mine to hold 
And why all these biters all up in my crotch space? 
Sniffin', puffin', huffin',  and mean muggin' with a Blimpie Bluffin 
Back up off me, sucka, you ain't sayin' nothin' 
 
I'm broader than Broadway, I was in project hallways 
Dual tape recorder, lacin' oratorials all day 
I'm just getting started on this beat, this is foreplay 
And when this song finished, y'all 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, I better pay homage to my fellas 
And that's what's on my mind and the rhyme, who's next up? 
 
Mike D, the man of mystery 
History in the makin', and now we're takin' 
Titles, awards, and accolades 
Scarin' 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 and shitty bars 
Go back in time, send a fax from my car 
 
One, one, two, two, three, three 
Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees 
It goes three, three, two, two, one, one 
MCA, Ad-Rock, 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 got somethin' on your mind, let it out