The Lesson, Pt. 3-The Roots

The Lesson, Pt. 3 - The Roots 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 feeling it, really" But that's silly 'cuz how the f**k you can't feel me? When I first felt it, I knew it had to be dealt wit A lot of ice grilling 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 bringing the 'Get Busy' back? Women say the sound of my voice, the Afro-disiac 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, controlling 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 a** to what's about to come because The lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now Aiyyo, Dice's flows hit idiots like crossbows Knock 'em out the Atlas, push 'em off the Atlas I'm laughing, looking down from off top the totem Hop off my pedestal, grab my scrotum Aiyyo, y'all niggas ain't f**king wit this sh*t (I told 'em) Aiyyo, y'all ain't f**king wit the Roots crew (I told 'em) The rap is a riot, yeah 'cuz my family bouncing 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**king your girl I just didn't have parents, The Roots found me in the trash But still a ni**a got a lot of class Trick wit my pinky finger up off the glass Keep talking sh*t, homeboy, that's your a** The lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now It's just the simple part of the game I guess it's just the art of the scam Check for your soul 'cuz it departed again Militant is atomic, you fall from the sky just like a comet Move out 'til the bottom of my shoes out How many tracks do you 'bout? How many of these niggas you doubt? How many of these ladies making you shout? You on a mission, so listen to this Ask yourself what condition is this Sick in the [unverified], I rap on a satellite disk You gotta like this, asking 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 sh*t I spit is humming wit slugs, get soaked in the suds The lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now The lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now The lesson, now it's now, we close shop We got it locked, it's over now