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Versuri The Roots - The Lesson Part 1
Versuri-versuri.ro > Versuri Litera T > Versuri The Roots > Miscellaneous - The Lesson Part 1Verse 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
 
 Verse 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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