| Well it’s the raw regees, thoroughbred from Philly
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| My name Black Thought, my girl’s the Black Lilies
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| Some people try to front like, I ain’t feeling it, really"
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| But that’s silly 'cuz how the fuck you can’t feel me?
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| When I first felt it, I knew it had to be dealt wit
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| A lot of ice grilling in the house got melted
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| Some tried to put up a fight but they was helpless
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| You ain’t try to turn that loose, you too selfish
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| Gimme that, guess who bringing the 'Get Busy' back?
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| Women say the sound of my voice, the Afro-disiac
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| E-me and when I’m in your town, come see me
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| 'The Real World' for real, this ain’t your MTV
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| The illest innervisions since Stevie on wax
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| My vocal like serve-o forty-eight tracks
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| The fact of the matter is a matter of fact
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| That it’s the Black Thought, controlling like Ike Turner
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| You wanna get wise, you best to be a fast learner
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| Or just relax and peep how it’s done
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| And boogie ya ass to what’s about to come because
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| The lesson, now it’s now, we close shop
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| We got it locked, it’s over now
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| Aiyyo, Dice’s flows hit idiots like crossbows
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| Knock 'em out the Atlas, push 'em off the Atlas
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| I’m laughing, looking down from off top the totem
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| Hop off my pedestal, grab my scrotum
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| Aiyyo, y’all niggas ain’t fucking wit this shit
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| (I told 'em)
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| Aiyyo, y’all ain’t fucking wit the Roots crew
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| (I told 'em)
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| The rap is a riot, yeah 'cuz my family bouncing
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| Soon as the name, Dice Raw is announced in
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| The arena, the grass is greener on the other side
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| I hit the stores, twenty-five thousand die
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| Now tell who the best in off the top in the world
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| I’ll give you a hint, the same guy that’s fucking your girl
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| I just didn’t have parents, The Roots found me in the trash
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| But still a nigga got a lot of class
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| Trick wit my pinky finger up off the glass
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| Keep talking shit, homeboy, that’s your ass
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| The lesson, now it’s now, we close shop
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| We got it locked, it’s over now
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| It’s just the simple part of the game
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| I guess it’s just the art of the scam
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| Check for your soul 'cuz it departed again
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| Militant is atomic, you fall from the sky just like a comet
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| Move out 'til the bottom of my shoes out
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| How many tracks do you 'bout?
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| How many of these niggas you doubt?
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| How many of these ladies making you shout?
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| You on a mission, so listen to this
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| Ask yourself what condition is this
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| Sick in the, I rap on a satellite disk
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| You gotta like this, asking me about the way that I stroll
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| About the way I enfold in scrambling mode
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| You’re like that, don’t bark, cat, bite back
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| What up, Blood? |
| Is things still the same in the hood?
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| While I sit, I gotta get dub and wish I could plug
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| They thoughts’ll leave 'em stiff in the mud, you wannabe thug
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| In section eight, houses were hush up under the rug
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| The shit I spit is humming wit slugs, get soaked in the suds
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| The lesson, now it’s now, we close shop
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| We got it locked, it’s over now
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| The lesson, now it’s now, we close shop
|
| We got it locked, it’s over now
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| The lesson, now it’s now, we close shop
|
| We got it locked, it’s over now |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Lesson (Pt. 3) (It's Over Now) , by - The Roots. Song from the album Things Fall Apart, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп