The Roots - The lesson (part 3)

[Black Thought] Well it's the raw regees, thoroughbred from Philly My name Black Thought, my girl's the Black LILIES Some people try to front like "I ain't feelin it really" But that's silly, cuz how the fuck you can't feel me? When I first felt it, I knew it had to be dealt wit Alot of ice-grillin in the house got melted Some tried to put up a fight, but they was helpless You ain't try to turn that loose, you too selfish Gimme that, guess who bringin the "Get busy" back Women say the sound of my voice, the Afrodeziac Okayplayer.com, where you can hit me at E-me and when I'm in your town, come see me The Real World for real, this ain't your MTV The illest INNERVISIONS since Stevie on wax My vocal like serve-o forty-eight tracks The fact of the matter is a matter of fact That it's the Black Thought, controllin like Ike Turner You wanna get wise, you best to be a fast learner Or just relax and peep how it's done And boogie ya ass to what's about to come because Chorus[Jaguar] *singing* The Lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now [Dice Raw] Aiyyo Dice's flows, hit idiots like crossbows Knock em out the atlas, push em off the atlas I'm laugin, lookin down from off top the totem Hop off my pedastall, grab my scrotum Aiyyo y'all niggas ain't FUCKIN wit this shit (I told em) Aiyyo y'all ain't FUCKIN wit the Roots crew (I told em) The rap is a riot yeah cuz my family bouncin Soon as the name, Dice Raw is announced in The arena, the grass is greener on the other side I hit the stores, twenty-five thousand die Now tell who the best in off the top in the world I'll give you a hint, the same guy that's fuckin your girl I just didn't have parents, The Roots found me in the trash But still, a nigga got a lot of class Trick wit my pinky-finger up off the glass Keep talkin shit homeboy, that's your ass Chorus [Malik B] It's just the simple part of the gam(e) I guess it's just the art of the scam Check for your soul cuz it departed again M-ill-i-tant is atomic, you fall from the sky just like a comet Move out till the bottom of my shoes out How many tracks do you bout? How many of these niggas you doubt? How many of these ladies makin you shout? You on a mission so listen to this Ask yourself what condition is this Sick in the ?wist?, I rap on a satellite disk You gotta like this, askin me about the way that I stroll About the way I enfold, in scrambling mode You're like that, don't bark cat, bite back What up Blood? Is things still the same in the hood? While I sit I gotta get dub, and wish I could plug They thoughts'll leave em stiff in the mud, you wannabe thug In section eight, houses were hush up under the rug The shit I spit is hummin wit slugs, get soaked in the suds Chorus 3x