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The Roots

Genres: Hip-Hop

Proceed Iii Lyrics - The Roots

Rock on, to the break of dawn 

Freak on to the early morn 

Khadafi and Sue-kwon, you got it goin on 

To my man Big Shawn, you got it goin on, now, yo 

You got The Roots in the house 

We also got Bahamadia in the house, representin lovely 

With you ears now proceed 

It's flavor you wouldn't believe as we proceed 

 

I shall... proceed... and continue... to rock the mic 

 

One: Malik B 

 

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Let's, kill all the small talk, and just elaborate 

The Roots collaborate I see myself as rather great 

How the words generate, whole crews disintergrate 

when I pentrate 

As if in the course flow with intensive force 

You best to go and check your source about my textual course 

Simplicity, it sounds complex, you might miss it 

But after you critique it you can kiss it 

I'm assissting fire force that leaves statistics 

When identify niggaz simplify you'll feel no sympathi 

My lyrics send you on a permanent excursion 

I never would decide when your lifespan was submergin 

My style is urban not surburban when I'm splurgin 

Gosh these MC's I wash more than detergent 

I can split the Red Sea but deadly 

Take heed, illadelph style as I proceed 

 

Two: Bahamadia 

 

Photos 

 

Bahamadia hits the melodies mellowly 

Brand new, funk doobie, choosy with the tactics 

when I gets Raw, like Dice, nice 

with the flavor, Do You Want More?!?! 

Of the Organix, pure 

Eargasmatic, from Distortion to Statics 

Automatic, systematic 

I'm nasty at it 

So hand me the five micraphones like they did Illmatic 

One time for the mind 

Rhyme be coming from an illadelph state of mind 

The real is not whole or half time 

all the time, and I shall proceed 

I'm movin on baby, I shall proceed 

To remain, on point like an infrared beam 

Succeed, in chasing out the ultraviolet dreams 

No Mas like Shorty, cuz it's all about me 

 

Three: Black Thought 

 

Black and handsome, holdin MC's for ransome 

Thoughts command some, is this, a phantom? 

Crews I mangle, y'all know my anthem ain't the Star Spangled 

I hit you from the most bizarre angle, rectangular 

visions of papes my mind conceive 

Motivatin me to acheive as I must proceed 

when I ride the train, traumatized to maintain 

but laid back, the tracks can relax the brain 

I got to deal with everything on this intelligent plain 

Servin as a killer 

to the pain I live a High Life like Miller 

Me and the mic's mechanized 

Respect recognize with mind beyond wise 

Limitless when I bless the mic with speak 

Dialect never weak, y'all niggaz know Tarik 

From seven-fifth Snider Ave. got the flavor you need 

For the ingredients indeed so to the lead I shall proceed 

 

*fades* 

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