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The Roots - Distortion To Static


[Verse 1: Black Thought]
Yo, I'm every MC, it's all in me
That's the way it is, the way it's gotta be
Indeed as I distort, I proceed, indeed
Getting hotter than sacks of boom in my room at the Ramada
For tanks in your memory banks to fill up
I provide the static, a scratch to match, while you catch the vibe
Most can play high-post, but yo, that don't mean shit
Because my clique will make a motherfucker sick
I'll flips, redder than pork, comin' to New York to mix
(It's Bob Power) With the snares and kicks to fix
Rhythmically, you got ta be, static-y
Magically I appear, spark a L and drink a beer
With Air Smooth, takin' niggas loot with dice
Then shoot, The Roots, poetic, courageously kinetic
Vagabond, versatile and various, trust 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, enlightening tykes
Frightening, like lightning
Fluorescent, incandescent, effervescently
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 stings 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
Money makin', move fakin', I isn't
Niggas can not front, I'm poetically exquisite
Wicked, with the visit while you're wonderin', what is it?
Dig it, yo, my mellow, um, what up for the night?
(Malik B., get on the mic, get on the mic)
Like that y'all, and yo, I'm flowin', my part of the song
It's goin', it's goin', it's gone

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