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The Lesson, Pt. 1
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The Roots
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1
Verse One: Black Thought
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Lyrically versatile
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My rap definition is wild
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I wrote graffiti as a juvenile
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Restin on deuce trey
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And used to boost gray Kangol's
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with 555 Soul's from the streets
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of the Ill-a-delphiadaic insane
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For monetary gain, niggaz is slain on the train
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It's homicide
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For wealth stealth missions for crack
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In the alleyways, where niggaz get grazed in the back
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From stray shots
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Clips with hollow tips, for your spine or
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Either remain calm, catch a rhyme, to your mind
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Niggaz ya know my style
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I run a--motherfuckin-rap--muk
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When Malik get a U-Haul truck
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I stand five, foot seven, in command of the party
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and scam like Uncle Sam
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I'm never caught up in the glass eye
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of your action cam, cause I'm down low
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Artistic exquisite rap pro, that get the dough
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It's the Philly borough dread
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thoroughbread for dolo
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I bag solo, like a nigga that boost Polo
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Steppin through the corridor, of metaphors
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Lookin over my left
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Shoulder the mic, still feel colder than before
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With this jazz shit I hit your jaw
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Dice Raw, get up on the mic, my young poor
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I be the nigga blowin up the spot on tour
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Surely real to the core, old school like eighty-four
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I never die, and raps till my lungs collapse
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Then relax until my knack for tracks
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Bring it back, on time
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When I rhyme my rep remain
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Either go against the grain or your ass is found slain
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I overcome, niggaz want styles then I throw you some
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Show you some, get on the mic and take it over son
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Dice Raw, the motherfuckin Wild Noid
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Get on the mic and perpetratin is void
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Verse Two: Dice Raw
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Ya leave niggaz missin in action like their dads in the projects
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My style like an old mac, travel round and catch wreck
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I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more
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Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles they bore
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Got to know the real meaning of the ill shit, kid
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I do mad damage but never will catch a bid
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With my knapsack, full of ill shit that I just boosted
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From the corner store when I let loose more
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Flavor that's me, rippin heads off from the seams
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Niggaz didn't play like Jeru and Come Clean
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[he heh ha ha ha] I beat down on they heads like drum machines
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Or 808's cause my style flows out great
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And superspectac, with all the raw rap
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Pull a metal chair out my knapsack across your back ka-crack
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Now do you feel the pain of course
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I guess you're believin that I'm insane
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When I'm taggin my name, upon the train I got so much pride
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I got so much soul, with lyrics high
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To make niggaz stop drop and roll, now check me out one time
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For your ass, fat styles equivalent
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of an AIDS infected Glock blast
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Niggaz know my style, plus they know they want more
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Props from Mount Vernon, to Mount Rushmore
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OK kid, you know my style is buckwild literature
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That you can never get when I'm thinkin your particular
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flavor that you want
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I sit back and smoke a fat blunt in class
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Teachers can kiss my ass, I'm twice, Dice
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Nigga de Raw, never take a bad fall
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Smack your head up against the wall
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Like playin handball, my style's ill
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I slam like Hulk Hogan, Dice Raw bettin on my arm
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Niggaz know my slogan while I breathe your last breath
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Niggaz better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck
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Ill, gots ta keep you in check
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With the hellified beats and hard rhymes
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Niggaz know my style, when I go the whole nine
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I beat down punks, cut em up into fruit chunks
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Like fruit salad, my style's smooth like white owl
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Blunts, so whatcha want if you got beef then come get it
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if ya don't well then forget it
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My rap style's exquisite, I'm Raw Daddy
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Like niggaz with no Trojans on the stage when I rhyme
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I gots ta keep, my composure
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Where I'm from it's like a whole different world
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Hoppin a train honeydip and I'ma snatch your squirrel
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Most corrupt, motherfucker in the tenth grade
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Juvenile cause Jeff McKay could not fade
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Don't ask me honey I'm not the one for stressin
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If you wanna know better ask BR.O.Th.E.R ?
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Cause he know the time like I know the time
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When I grab the microphone
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It's like, summertime, laid back, to recline
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In my La-Z-Boy chair
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Dice Raw, the Wild Noid
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I'm the fuck up outta here
The Roots - Da Lesson Part 1 (Instrument...
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