CH-Check It Out Lyrics

Beastie boys
Ch Check it out
To the 5 Boroughs


All you Trekkies and TV addicts
Dont mean to diss
Dont mean to bring static
(cmon)
Or you can cling on to your grandma's house
Grab your backstreet friend and get loud
Blowin’ doors off hinges I’ll grab you with the pinchers
and no I didn’t retire I’ll snatch you up with the needle nose pliers
Like Mutual of Omaha, got the ill boat 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 YOU’RE 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 clothesright out the dryer Put Armor All up on your tire Sport that,
freshhhhhhhhhhhhh 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