Intro: |
You ready lets go yeah |
For those of you that want |
to know what we're all about |
It's like this y'all (c'mon!) |
Chorus: |
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill |
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will |
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain |
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name! |
Mike - He doesn't need his name up in lights |
He just wants to be heard |
whether it's the beat or the mic |
He feels so unlike everybody else, alone |
In spite of the fact that some people |
Still think that they know him |
But fuck em, he knows the code |
It's not about the salary |
It's all about reality and making some noise |
Makin the story - makin sure his clique stays up |
That means when he puts it down |
Tak's pickin it up! let's go! |
Who the hell is he anyway? |
he never really talks much |
Never concerned with status but |
still leavin them star struck |
Humbled through opportunities given |
to him despite the fact |
That many misjudge him because he makes |
a livin from writin raps |
Put it together himself, now the picture connects |
Never askin for someone's help, to get some respect |
He's only focused on what he wrote, |
his will is beyond reach |
And now when it all unfolds, the skill of an artist |
It's just twenty percent skill eighty percent fear |
Be one hundred percent clear cause Ryu is ill |
Who would've thought that he'd be |
the one to set the west in flames |
And I heard him wreckin with The Crystal Method, |
"Name Of The Game" |
Came back dropped Megadef, took em to church |
I like bleach man, why you have the stupidest verse? |
This dude is the truth, |
now everybody be givin him guest spots |
His stock's through the roof I heard he fuckin with S. Dot! |
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill |
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will |
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain |
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name! |
They call him Ryu The Sick and he's spittin fire with Mike |
Got him out the dryer he's hot found him |
in Fort Minor with Tak |
Been a fuckin annihilist porcupine he's a prick, he's a cock |
The type woman want to be with, and rappers hope he get shot |
Eight years in the makin, patiently waitin to blow |
Now the record with Shinoda's takin over the globe |
He's got a partner in crime, his shit is equally dope |
You wont believe the kind of shit that comes |
Out of this kid's throat |
Tak - He's not your everyday on the block |
He knows how to work with what he's got |
Makin his way to the top |
People think its a common owners name |
People keep askin him was it given at birth |
Or does it stand for an acronym? |
No he's livin proof, Got him rockin the booth |
He'll get you buzzin quicker than |
a shot of vodka with juice |
Him and his crew are known around as one of the best |
Dedicated to what they doin give a hundred percent |
Forget Mike - Nobody really knows |
how or why he works so hard |
It seems like he's never got time |
Because he writes every note and he writes every line |
And I've seen him at work when that light |
goes on in his mind |
It's like a design is written in his head every time |
Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme |
And those motherfuckers he runs with, |
those kids that he signed? |
Ridiculous, without even trying, how do they do it?! |
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill |
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will |
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain |
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name! |
x2 |
Bridge: |
x4 |
Yeah! Fort Minor M. Shinoda - Styles of Beyond |
Ryu! Takbir! Machine Shop! |
Fort Minor - שירים נוספים |
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אין יותר אקורדים לשירים לאמן זה בקש שיר |
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שירים נוספים מהקטגוריה Hip Hop / Rap |
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