The Roots

[Verse One: Black Thought]
Yo, I'm every MC, it's all in me
That's the way it is, when ya gotta be
Indeed as I distort I proceed, indeed
Gettin hotter than sacks of boom, in my room at the Ramada
For tanks in your memory banks to fill up
I provide the static, with scratch to match, while you catch the vibe
Most can play high post, but yo that don't mean shit
Because my click'll make a motherfucker sick
I flips, redder than pork, comin to New York to mix
(It's Bob Powers) With the snares and kicks to fix
Rhythmatically, you got ta be, static-y
Magiccally I appear, spark a L and drink a beer
With air smooth, takin niggaz loot with dice
then shoot The Roots, poetic, courageously kinetic
Vagabond, versatile and various, plus rap styles
of mine are blunt, pain is in the mind, so I'm fine and five
Foot seven, inches in height
My mission to strike mics and lighten your tights
Frightening, like lightning
Flourescent, incandescent, evervescently
I represent, Foreign Objects and Ill Elements
Very relevant, plus intelligently managin matter
that's makin tracks fatter, revolve around
Saturn like rings and brings swings, when I sings with bass
Then distort up in your face like mace
Bustin your dreams like gats with loaded magazines
I'm on the rap scene, repellin fellas like a vaccine
As I, rocks from under blunderin I'm not, lyrically
Ya get, shot, get caught so distort with Thought, for real
It's the illest out the Phi, short for Philidelph-iada-fly