"The Lesson, Pt. 1" lyrics - THE ROOTS

[Verse 1: 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 Souls from the streets of the Illadelph-iadic insane
For monetary gain, niggas is slain on the train
It's homicide for wealth, stealth missions for crack
In the alleyways where niggas 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
Niggas, ya know my style
I run a-motherfuckin-rap-mok with Malik in a U-Haul truck
I stand 5'7", 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 thoroughbred 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 '84
I never die, and raps 'til 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, niggas 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 perpetrate in this void

[Verse 2: Dice Raw]
I leave niggas missin' in action like their dads in the projects
My style like an nomad, 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 meanin' 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
Niggas 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 super spectac' 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 hot
To make niggas stop, drop and roll
Now, check me out one time for your ass
Fat styles equivalent of an AIDS infected Glock blast
Niggas 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 Riggety 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
Niggas know my slogan while I breathe your last breath
Niggas better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck
Ill, gots ta keep you in check
With the hellified beats and hard rhymes
Niggas 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 Malik
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 niggas 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, honey-dip and I'mma 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 Brother?uestion
'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

[Instrumental outro]