The Roots — Game Theory

[Intro: Sly Stone] This is a game I'm your specimen This is a game I'm your specimen This is a game I'm your specimen This is a game I'm your specimen [Bridge: Sly Stone] You've got to let me know, baby So I can go I'd have to fake it, I could not make it You could not take it [Verse 1: Black Thought] Yeah, where I'ma start it at; look, I'm a part of that Downtown Philly, where it's realer than a heart attack It wasn't really that ill until the start of crack Now, it's a body caught every night on the Almanac Rock bottom, where them cops got a problem at Where them outsiders getting popped for they wallet at I had nothing, but I made something out of that Now, I'm the first out the limo like Charlie Mack From 2-1-5, it's him, the livest one And he's representing Philly to the fullest Black's the realest, you can't touch him And not for nothing, if you 'bout hip-hop, then you gots to love it If not, then, fuck it, I'm still handling Smoking more reefer than Redman and 'em Damaging MCs, and my name—'Riq, geez You endangered species For what I do, I'm 'bout to up the fees, I'm paper chase-motivated I ain't the one to play with, these cats get set ablaze You can have it y'all way, but I'd rather parlay Just smoke O.G. and get cabbage all day The way foreplay causes your main thing to say: "You style so splendid; you 'bout your business" You arousing my interests, you sharper than a shogun You know the way it go, huh—game! Know what I'm talking 'bout? [Hook: Black Thought] "Hus'"—that's short for "hustlers" We Black Ink, Raw Life productions Tryna find our spots amongst the ruckus And be sucker-free, and free of chumps and busters, man Yeah, get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus' [Verse 2: Black Thought] Ayo, I'm tryn get it at any cost, so it's no remorse When I'm blasting off like you been asking for When Black step in the door all hats is off Your hands up in the air going back and forth I'm about ready for a classic massacre I'll make it hotter than when Shaft in Africa Jump out a black Porshe huffing a fat cigar Night-riding on 'em like my last name Hasselhoff Voted unlikely to succeed 'cause my class was full Of naysayers, cheaters and thieves All it gave me was a good enough reason to leave And put the writing on the wall for y'all to read it and weep 'Cause I'm the force of the Lord, the rage of Hell You'd rather head for the hills and save yourselves My man rip drums like he ringing the bells The king of the realm, you seen him do his thing in a film, c'mon [Hook: Black Thought] "Hus'"—that's short for "hustlers" We Black Ink, Raw Life productions Tryna find our spots amongst the ruckus And be sucker-free, and free of chumps and busters, man Yeah, get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus' [Verse 3: Malik B] Dreams with M16s with infrared beams Blowing up presidents' cribs with cans of kerosene Hijack the limousine with a strategic routine Then blast my enemies, head for the Caribbeans The militant guerilla camp is ready for war Lay you on the face-down Place down your jewels, cash and four-four When I score, prepare for torture Fuck around and make your town Warsaw I'm from Illadel', the land where the killers dwell My technique is to ambush you, guerilla-style My instinct is of a killer whale Bang you up from head to toe With lyrics I pack like a nine-millimal' My type subliminal mentality switched to criminal Importing heroin internash' from Senegal A soldier takes his stripes from a general Used the mic of iron or lead, you choose your mineral [Outro: Sly Stone sample] This is a game And I'm your specimen You've got to let me know, baby So I can go I'd have to fake it, I could not make it You could not—