The Lesson-Part III (It's Over Now) - The Roots, Jaguar

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

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

(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