The Lesson Part 1 Lyrics - The Roots

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 

Two: Dice Raw 

Related 

Match These Taylor Swift Songs to Her Ex-Boyfriends 

Love Stinks, So Here Are 15 Anti-Valentine's Day Songs 

Watch Cardi B Join James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

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 

Photos