The Roots | Lyrics | The Lesson Pt. 3

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*** 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
Okayplayer.com, where you can hit me at
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 ass 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****** wit this s***
(I told 'em)
Aiyyo, y'all ain't f****** 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****** 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 talking s***, homeboy, that's your ass

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 s*** 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