The Roots - The Lesson, Pt. 1 Lyrics

Lyrically versatile
My rap definition is wild
I wrote graffiti as a juvenile
Restin' on deuce trey
And used to boost gray Kangols
With 555 Souls from the streets
Of the Ill-a-delphiadaic 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
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
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 (Dice Raw), the motherfuckin' Wild Noid (get on the mic)
Get on the mic and perpetratin' is void (come on)

I leave niggas missin' in action like their dads in the projects
My style like an old mack, travel 'round and catch wreck
I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more
Wack MCs want to 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
Niggas didn't play like Jeru and Come Clean (haha, haha)
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 cr-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
Okay, kid, you know my style is buck wild 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
Riggity-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 written on my arm
Niggas know my slogan while I breathe your last breath
Niggas better watch they step, fat bull catch wreck
Ill, gots to 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 wanna do? 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 to keep, my composure
Where I'm from, it's like a whole different world
Hoppin' a train honey dip 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 want to 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