Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sacrifice, artist - The Roots. Date of issue: 15.11.2010
Song language: English
Sacrifice |
| Listen, I got you phobic off of this like arachnids |
| Drastic, it ain’t plastic it’s Pro-Blackness |
| Grown man tactics, no pediatrics |
| the kind of track that make the comeback miraculous |
| the catalyst, Thought with the knack for splashin' |
| I’m dashin’I mastered the craft of mashin' |
| The level-headed throughbred, the female’s passion |
| Mag-netic attraction be keepin’them askin' |
| The crews in the Cadillacs with the Pendergrassin' |
| Swerve half-naked, won’t come near crashin' |
| But if I go to heaven, would y’all know my name |
| or would it be the same for you like I was Eric Clapton, huh? |
| Clap for you freedom dog, that’s what’s happening |
| My spit take critical political action |
| The hustle is a puzzle each piece is a fraction |
| And every word that’s understood is a transaction |
| I’m an S.P. soldier, microphone holder |
| Rep Philly set from Bolivia to Boulder |
| Paris, France to Tip and Tioga |
| How we gonna make it through the dark, I show ya I tell you one lesson I learned |
| If you want to reach something in life |
| You ain’t gonna get it unless |
| You give a little bit of sacrifice |
| Ooohh, sometimes before you smile you got to cry |
| You need a heart that’s filled with music |
| If you use it you can fly |
| If you want to be high |
| Listen, yo kick off your shoes, jump off the jock |
| I fly higher than them dudes, from off your block |
| My name Black, the style is unorthodox |
| It tap chins in your mens 'til you thought could box |
| A couple of people wanted Thought to stop, but guess what? |
| My man grab the missile, plug for the gut |
| Now next time beatty stop being such a glut |
| I’m precise with it like Faheim with haircuts |
| We up close on 'em with toast but no crust |
| It’s fructose on 'em they froze and won’t bust |
| Choke on your face you jewels is lacklust |
| Got to put it to you straight, y’all fools is jacked up Came close to the upmost but no cigar |
| Nose to the grindstone, head to the stars |
| The number one runner with the number one drummer |
| Grammy award winnin’it’s the world’s eighth wonder |
| Come on Your first impression might be I’m a asshole |
| Or say I’m sometimey and give people a hassle |
| Or try to suntouch and put the heat in the capsule |
| Dog I’m far deeper than that though; |
| I get in the zone |
| Recognize I’m a rolling stone |
| No time to lollygag or lounge with scaliwags |
| Give me the disc or I put it where your body at Old school spit flow laid over Trotter tracks |
| With no apology fraud or trick-knowledgy |
| Just trust, what I see and I say and follow me my way |
| I read an open booklet inside me The star of the story that groove teller got me Through all the dark times part of the business |
| The light be contingent on small forensics |
| My microphone’ll make a man a newborn infant |
| It’s true so the crew gon’sense it I get in the zone |
| The fact of the matter is a matter of fact… |