The Roots: The lesson (part 1)

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