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the roots - the lesson, pt. 1 lyrics

[verse 1: black thought]
lyrically versatile, my rap definition is wild
i wrote graffiti as a juvenile
restin’ on deuce trey and used to boost gray kangol’s
with 555 souls from the streets of the illadelph-iadic insane
for monetary gain, n-ggas is slain on the train
it’s homicide for wealth, stealth missions for crack
in the alleyways where n-ggas get grazed in the back
from stray shots, clips with hollow tips, for your spine
or either remain calm, catch a rhyme to your mind
n-ggas, ya know my style
i run a-motherf-ckin-rap-muk with malik in a u-haul truck
i stand 5’7″, in command of the party and scam like uncle sam
i’m never caught up in the gl-ss eye of your action cam
’cause i’m down low, artistic exquisite rap pro that get the dough
it’s the philly borough dread thoroughbred for dolo
i bag solo, like a n-gga that boost polo
steppin’ through the corridor of metaphors
lookin’ over my left shoulder, the mic still feel colder than before
with this jazz sh-t, i hit your jaw
dice raw, get up on the mic, my young poor
i be the n-gga blowin’ up the spot on tour
surely real to the core, old school like ’84
i never die, and raps ’til my lungs collapse
then relax until my knack for tracks bring it back
on time, when i rhyme my rep remain
either go against the grain or your -ss is found slain
i overcome, n-ggas want styles then i throw you some
show you some, get on the mic and take it over, son
dice raw, the motherf-ckin’ wild noid
get on the mic and perpetrate in this void

[verse 2: dice raw]
i leave n-ggas missin’ in action like their dads in the projects
my style like an nomad, travel ’round and catch wreck
i’m ill versatile, with the sk!ll no more
wack mc’s wanna flex but their styles, they bore
got to know the real meanin’ of the ill sh-t, kid
i do mad damage but never will catch a bid
with my knapsack, full of ill sh-t that i just boosted
from the corner store when i let loose more
flavor that’s me, rippin’ heads off from the seams
n-ggas didn’t play like jeru and come clean
[he heh ha ha ha] i beat down on they heads like drum machines
or 808’s ’cause my style flows out great
and super spectac’ with all the raw rap
pull a metal chair out my knapsack across your back ka-crack
now do you feel the pain of course
i guess you’re believin’ that i’m insane
when i’m taggin’ my name upon the train, i got so much pride
i got so much soul, with lyrics hot
to make n-ggas stop drop and roll
now, check me out one time for your -ss
fat styles equivalent of an aids infected glock blast
n-ggas know my style, plus they know they want more
props from mount vernon to mount rushmore
ok, kid, you know my style is buckwild literature
that you can never get when i’m thinkin’ your particular
flavor that you want
i sit back and smoke a fat blunt in cl-ss
teachers can kiss my -ss, i’m twice, dice riggety raw
never take a bad fall, smack your head up against the wall
like playin’ handball, my style’s ill
i slam like hulk hogan, dice raw bettin’ on my arm
n-ggas know my slogan while i breathe your last breath
n-ggas better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck
ill, gots ta keep you in check
with the h-llified beats and hard rhymes
n-ggas know my style, when i go the whole nine
i beat down punks, cut ’em up into fruit chunks
like fruit salad, my style’s smooth like malik
blunts, so whatcha want? if you got beef then come get it
if ya don’t well then forget it
my rap style’s exquisite, i’m raw daddy
like n-ggas with no trojans on the stage when i rhyme
i gots ta keep my composure
where i’m from, it’s like a whole different world
hoppin’ a train, honey-dip and i’mma sn-tch your squirrel
most corrupt, motherf-cker in the tenth grade
juvenile ’cause jeff mckay could not fade
don’t ask me, honey, i’m not the one for stressin’
if you wanna know, better ask brother ?uestion
’cause he know the time like i know the time
when i grab the microphone, it’s like summertime
laid back, to recline in my la-z-boy chair
dice raw, the wild noid
i’m the f-ck up outta here

- the roots lyrics

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