The Roots — The Lesson Pt. 1

[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, niggas is slain on the train It's homicide for wealth, stealth missions for crack In the alleyways where niggas 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 Niggas, ya know my style I run a-motherfuckin-rap-mok 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 glass 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 nigga that boost Polo Steppin' through the corridor of metaphors Lookin' over my left shoulder, the mic still feel colder than before With this jazz shit, I hit your jaw Dice Raw, get up on the mic, my young poor I be the nigga 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 ass is found slain I overcome, niggas want styles, then I throw you some Show you some, get on the mic and take it over, son Dice Raw, the motherfuckin' Wild Noid Get on the mic and perpetrate in this void [Verse 2: Dice Raw] I leave niggas 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 skill, no more Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles, they bore Got to know the real meanin' of the ill shit, kid I do mad damage but never will catch a bid With my knapsack, full of ill shit that I just boosted From the corner store when I let loose more Flavor that's me, rippin' heads off from the seams Niggas 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 niggas stop, drop and roll Now, check me out one time for your ass Fat styles equivalent of an AIDS infected Glock blast Niggas 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 class Teachers can kiss my ass, 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 Niggas know my slogan while I breathe your last breath Niggas better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck Ill, gots ta keep you in check With the hellified beats and hard rhymes Niggas 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 niggas 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 snatch your squirrel Most corrupt, motherfucker 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 fuck up outta here [Instrumental outro]