The New Style - Beastie Boys

And on the cool check-in

Center-stage on the mic

And we puttin' it on wax;

It’s the new style

Four and three and two and one (What up?)

And when I’m on the mic—the suckers run (Word!)

Down with Ad-Rock and Mike D, and you ain’t

And I got more juice than Picasso got paint

Got rhymes that are rough and rhymes that are slick

I’m not surprised you’re on my dick (Mike D!)

What up, Mike D?

Aw—yeah—that's me

I got franks and pork and beans

Always bust the new routines

I get it, I got it—I know it’s good

The rhymes I write—you wish you would

I’m never in training, my voice is not straining

People always biting, and I’m sick of complaining

So I went into the locker room, during classes

Went into your locker and I smashed your glasses

You’re from Secaucus—I'm from Manhattan

You’re jealous of me because your girlfriend is cattin'

(«There it is»)

Kick it!

Father to many—married to none

And in case you’re unaware;

I carry a gun (Word)

Stepped into the party—the place was over-packed

Saw the kid that dissed my homeboy, shot him in the back

Man, I had to get a beeper 'cause my phone is tapped

You better keep your mouth shut 'cause I’m fully strapped

I got money in the bank—I can still get high

That’s why your girlfriend thinks that I’m so fly

I’ve got money and juice—twin sisters in my bed

Their father had envy so I shot him in the head

If I played guitar, I’d be Jimmy Page

The girlies I like are underage (Shh! Check it)

Girls with boyfriends are the kinds I like

I’ll steal your honey like I stole your bike

My father—he's jealous 'cause I’m making that green (What up?)

I’ve got a list of girlies' numbers from the places I’ve been

(«There it is»)

Kick it!

You wanna know why?

Because I’m—

October 31st, that is my date of birth

I got to the party, you know what I did?

The Smurf!

Taxin' all the females, from coast to coast

And when I get my fill, I’m chilly most

We ragtag girlies back at the hotel

And then we all switch places when I ring the bell

I chill at White Castle 'cause it’s the best

But I’m fly at Fatburger when—when he’s—I'm way out west (Check it)

All the fine ladies, they’re on my jammy

Went to the prom—wore the fly, blue rental

Got six girlies in my Lincoln Continental

I met a girl at the party and she started to flirt

I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt (Check it)

Spent some bank, got a high powered jumbo

Rolled up a wooly—what'd he do?—and I watched Columbo

Let me clear my throat

Kick it over here, baby pop

And let all the fly skimmies feel the beat—

Mmm—drop

Coolin' on the corner on a hot summer’s day

Just me, my posse, and—MCA

A lot of beer, a lot of girls, and a lot of cursin'

.22 automatic on my person

Got my hand in my pocket and my finger’s on the trigger

My posse’s gettin' big—and my posse’s gettin' bigger

Some voices got treble—some voices got bass

We got the kind of voices that are in your face!

Like the bun to the burger—and like the burger to the bun

Like the cherry—to the apple—to the peach—to the plum

I’m the King of the Ave.—and I’m the king of the block

Well, I’m MCA—and I’m the King Ad-Rock

Well, I’m Mike D—I got all the fly juice

On the checkin' at the party on the Forty Deuce

Walking down the block with the fresh, fly threads

Beastie Boys—fly the biggest heads

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho…

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho…

Brooklyn, ho

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho…