The Lesson Pt 1 Lyrics by Roots, The

The Lesson Pt 1 Lyrics

    Verse one: 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 soul's from the streets
    Of the ill-a-delphiadaic insane
    For monetary gain, niggaz is slain on the train
    It's homicide
    For wealth stealth missions for crack
    In the alleyways, where niggaz 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
    Niggaz ya know my style
    I run a--motherfuckin-rap--muk
    When malik get a u-haul truck
    I stand five, foot seven, 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
    Thoroughbread 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 eighty-four
    I never die, and raps till 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, niggaz 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 perpetratin is void

    Verse two: dice raw

    Ya leave niggaz missin in action like their dads in the projects
    My style like an old mac, 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 meaning 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
    Niggaz 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 superspectac, 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 high
    To make niggaz stop drop and roll, now check me out one time
    For your ass, fat styles equivalent
    Of an aids infected glock blast
    Niggaz 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
    Nigga de 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
    Niggaz know my slogan while i breathe your last breath
    Niggaz better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck
    Ill, gots ta keep you in check
    With the hellified beats and hard rhymes
    Niggaz 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 white owl
    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 niggaz 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 honeydip and i'ma 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 br.o.th.e.r ?
    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

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