Lyrics @ 15 - The Roots

@ 15

The name of the brother to blame, it’s quite plain
It’s not the rain but a brother who don’t claim or aim
To be a preacher or ordained
I have black thoughts, therefore my name’s the same
Don’t question my ability, in a studio facility
As I utilize my God-given utility
On time, I get behind and push along a rhyme
Of mine which I design with wealth of mind
Leave MC’s blind with amnesia
Chop 'em into salad and my name ain’t Caesar
Think twice before you approach
Get benched by the coach, like eggs you’re poached
I wrote murder, so you can say it’s murder he wrote
You think I’m Hell sent, so you repent to the Pope
Don’t walk when the sign says not to
And don’t talk when Black Thought’s about to
When I say «Maestro» and bro starts to play it
If you got a rhyme in your mind, then don’t say it
Save it for the weaker, pack your portable speaker
And utilize the treads on your sneaker
Take your sorry crew back and forget about rappin'
Forget you ever saw me and forget this ever happened
Cause you might have nightmares of MC’s bein' slain
And I’ll be to blame when you go insane