Ad-Rock - Shake Your Rump lyrics

Now, I rock a house party at the drop of a hat I beat a biter down with an alunimum bat A lot of people they be Jonesin' just to hear me rock the mic They'll be staring at the radio, staying up all night So like a pimp, I'm pimpin' I got a boat to eat shrimp in Nothing wrong with my leg, I'm just B-boy limpin' Got arrested at the Mardi Gras for jumping on a float My man MCA's got a beard like a billy goat Ooh-ooh is my disco call MCA (hu-huh) I'm gettin' rope, y'all Routines I bust, and the rhymes that I write And I'll be busting routines and rhymes all night Like eating burgers or chicken and you'll be picking your nose, man I'm on time, homie, that's how it goes You heard my style, I think you missed the point It's The Joint! Mike D... (Yeah?) With your bad self running things What's up with your bad breath onion rings Well, I'm Mike D, and I'm back from the dead Chillin' at the beach, down at Club Med Make another record cause the people they want more of this s**ers they be saying they can take out Adam Horovitz Hurricane, you got clout Other DJ's, he'll put your head out A puppet on a string, I'm paid to sing or rhyme or do my thing I'm in a lava lamp, inside my brain hotel I might be freakin or peakin', but I rock well The Patty Duke Show, the Wrench, and then I bust the Tango Got more rhymes than Jamaica got Mango I got the peg leg at the end of my stump-a Shake your rump-a A full clout, y'all, a full clout, y'all And when the mic is in my mouth, I turn it out, y'all A full clout *sound of a bong hit followed by a shotgun noise* Never been dumped, cause I'm the most mackinest Never been jumped, cause I'm known the most packinest Yeah, we've got beef, chief, we're knocking out teeth, chief And if you don't believe us, you should question your belief, Keith Like Sam the butcher bringing Alice the meat Like Fred Flintstone, driving around with bald feet Should I have another sip? Nah, skip it In the back of the ride and bust with the whippet Rope a dope dookies all around the neck Who-ha, got them all in check Running from the law, the press, and the parents Is your name Michael Diamond? No, mine's Clarence From downtown, Manhattan, the Village My style is wild, and you know that it still is Disco bag schlepping, and you're doing the bump Shake your rump-a