Lyrics The Lesson, Part 1 - The Roots
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
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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