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The Roots
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Work (with Alechia James)
Spectate. Cost a buck o'five, the net weight
The kid drummer, this will cave in your chestplate
It ain't just lines and hooks and fresh bait
Yo the bait hook lines for you all to congregate
Waiting to taste Philly's own fully grown
Rock stone trooper son to the bone the bone
You all done stumbled upon the computer code
Too raw for you to hold, too much to download
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It's funny how the murder shit can sound beautiful
Pure trooper soul serious bait
We on some more talk for the hustle and beats to get sold
Move like a body got a mind of its own
Yo, I bang like them sheist niggas out in the cold
That will snatch niggas up right outside of their home
Yet still it's all a quality song, [?]
[?], yo everybody get zoned
Because it just ain't real without Roots crew in it
To black people getting money keep doing it
And to whoever will front you know what you can get
Uh get the fuck out of here with that stupid shit
As time goes on, one thing is true
Soul is a treasure, it becomes a part of you
It controls your mind, both you and I
And it feels right, you want action
You're attracted to the big things
Yo I get stopped on the street a lot, people recognize me
Talking stalking walking right behind me
Some of them are genuine fans, some are slimy
Some be coming at me like 'I'm ill nigga, sign me!'
Baiting me I'm waiting for you all to rhyme finely
Ask them to spit, their shit be like common
Nothing I can taste or feel type style
Up inside the studio contaminate the real
See you all make big mistakes for real. I tried to tell them in Clones
You can't sign from the next man's skill
I got style half sex appeal and half trife
My voice is like a soul nigga on a bagpipe
Before we got on stage and got things hype
You was boring the crowd performing the last rites
Now let me show you how this shit is done
It's Black Thought and Questlove on the drum, he the big one
And you about to be the victim, because Mars dog
Murking with the ham and he thirsty to hit son
It ain't nothing but rhymes and ammunition
For all y'all dopes with hopes and ambitions
Of knocking me off and trying to take my position
Stop wishing and sit your ass back and listen
To the yo you rocking with the number one best
No one for contest. Come on, work
Yo I want action baby black cherry Cadillac traction
Smack shit up you won't know what the fuck happened
Thug, you light on the thug and heavy on the passion
In South Philly son there's heavy gun traffic
Yo I got seven joints, every one a classic sound
Down for the long stretch like elastic
Catch this, if I'm in the box selling blast or shot
My thing is pro hip hop and pro blackness
The whole block got straps and throwbacks
But yo sometimes it just contributes to the madness
We live around wild hazards. The bait is
Like a magnet and grown ass kids they want to have it
Their hearts pumping overactive in front of their eyes
It's so elaborate, ghetto melodramatic
Yo I lift it up and come through in the clutch
But y'all came here to do it or what? I keep telling you that
It just ain't real without Roots crew in it
To black people getting money keep doing it
And to whoever will front you know what you can get
Uh get the fuck out of here with that stupid shit
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