The Roots — Distortion to Static At Ease Mix

[Intro] (Laughing) [Verse 1: Black Thought] Yo, I'm every MC, it's all in me For all eternity I'm representin' Southern Philly Indeed as I distort, I proceed, and lead Getting hotter than sacks of boom in my smoke-filled room For tanks in your memory banks to fill up I provide the static, a scratch to match, while you catch the vibe Most can play high-post, but yo, that don't mean shit Because my clique will make a motherfucker sick Who flips kid? The Black Thought, jiffily que this in the mix Master of the money, getting lyrics and shit Rhythmically, you got to be, static-y Magically I appear, spark a L and drink a beer With Air Smooth, takin' niggas loot with dice Then shoot, The Roots, poetic, courageously kinetic Vagabond, versatile and various, trust rap styles Of mine are blunt, pain is in the mind, so I'm fine and five Foot seven, inches in height My mission to strike mics and lighten your tights Frightening, like lightnin' Fluorescent, incandescent, effervescently I represent, Foreign Objects and Ill Elements Very relevant, plus intelligently managin' matter That's makin' tracks fatter, revolve around Saturn like rings and brings swings, when I sings with bass Then distort up in your face like ugh Bustin' your dreams like gats with loaded magazines I'm on the rap scene, repellin' fellas like a vaccine As I, rocks from under, blunderin' I'm not, lyrically Ya get, shot, get caught so distort with Thought, for real It's the illest out the Phi, short for Philidelph-iada-fly Money makin', move fakin', I isn't Niggas can not front, I'm poetically exquisite Wicked, with the visit while you're wonderin', what is it? Now dig it, yo, my mellow, um, what up for the night? Malik B, get on the mic, get on the mic Like that y'all, and yo I'm flowin', my part of the song It's goin', it's goin', it's gone [Interlude] (Laughing) [Verse Two: Malik B.] Now, go get your dictionary and your Pictionary Cause much affliction with my diction friction slips and carries Words and herds like some cattle in the steeple People, there's no equal, or no sequel So policies, of equalities get abolished Demolished, distortion of the static's gettin' polished Urges of splurgin' words will just be merged Together, damn it's quite clever, however You never, can sound alike, lyrics don't be poundin' like These, troops, who be's, Roots Insult ya, mellow by culture, rhythmatic vulture Approach ya, with Magnetic shit that's Ultra I make MC's dangle like a bangle Strangle from every angle, my lingo jingles And it jangles under Kangols Nahh them niggas don't want to tangle Cause Roots get loose, negros get juiced like the mango To be particular, extra-curricular, for pleasure Measure, in any weather, value more than the treasure Baby, you're sayin' maybe, then comin' to flex Now you wonder what's next [Outro] (Laughing)