The Lesson Part 3 (it's Over Now) Lyrics - The Roots

(Black Thought) 

Well it's the raw regees, thoroughbred from Philly 

My name Black Thought, my girl's the Black LILIES 

Some people try to front like "I ain't feelin it really" 

But that's silly, 'cause how the f**k you can't feel me? 

When I first felt it, I knew it had to be dealt wit 

Alot of ice-grillin in the house got melted 

Some tried to put up a fight, but they was helpless 

You ain't try to turn that loose, you too selfish 

Gimme that, guess who bringin the "Get busy" back 

Women say the sound of my voice, the Afrodeziac 

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E-me and when I'm in your town, come see me 

The Real World for real, this ain't your MTV 

The illest INNERVISIONS since Stevie on wax 

My vocal like serve-o forty-eight tracks 

The fact of the matter is a matter of fact 

That it's the Black Thought, controllin like Ike Turner 

You wanna get wise, you best to be a fast learner 

Or just relax and peep how it's done 

And boogie ya ass to what's about to come because 

Chorus(Jaguar) *singing* 

The Lesson, now it's now, we close shop 

We got it locked, it's over now 

Photos 

(Dice Raw) 

Aiyyo Dice's flows, hit idiots like crossbows 

Knock em out the atlas, push em off the atlas 

I'm laugin, lookin down from off top the totem 

Hop off my pedastall, grab my scrotum 

Aiyyo y'all niggas ain't F**KIN wit this shit 

(I told em) Aiyyo y'all ain't F**KIN wit the Roots crew (I told em) 

The rap is a riot yeah 'cause my family bouncin 

Soon as the name, Dice Raw is announced in 

The arena, the grass is greener on the other side 

I hit the stores, twenty-five thousand die 

Now tell who the best in off the top in the world 

I'll give you a hint, the same guy that's f**kin your girl 

I just didn't have parents, The Roots found me in the trash 

But still, a nigga got a lot of class 

Trick wit my pinky-finger up off the glass 

Keep talkin shit homeboy, that's your ass 

Chorus 

(Malik B) 

It's just the simple part of the gam(e) 

I guess it's just the art of the scam 

Check for your soul 'cause it departed again 

M-ill-i-tant is atomic, you fall from the sky just like a comet 

Move out till the bottom of my shoes out 

How many tracks do you bout? 

How many of these niggas you doubt? 

How many of these ladies makin you shout? 

You on a mission so listen to this 

Ask yourself what condition is this 

Sick in the? wist?, I rap on a satellite disk 

You gotta like this, askin me about the way that I stroll 

About the way I enfold, in scrambling mode 

You're like that, don't bark cat, bite back 

What up Blood? Is things still the same in the hood? 

While I sit I gotta get dub, and wish I could plug 

They thoughts'll leave em stiff in the mud, you wannabe thug 

In section eight, houses were hush up under the rug 

The shit I spit is hummin wit slugs, get soaked in the suds 

Chorus 3x