You ready? Lets go! (yeah!)
Yeah, for those of you who want to know what we're all about
It's like this y'all (c'mon!)
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!
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 them
He knows the code:
It's not about the salary
It's all about reality and making some noise
Makin' a 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 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, and 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
This is twenty percent skill
Eighty percent beer
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
Then I heard him wreckin with The Crystal Method, "The Name Of The Game"
Came back dropped Megadef, took them to church
I like bleach man, Ryu had the stupidest verse
This dude is the truth, now everybody givin him guest spots
His stock's through the roof I heard he fuckin with S-Dot!
It's just ten percent luck,
Twenty percent skill,
Fiftteen percent concentrated power of will,
Five percent pleasure,
Fifty percent pain,
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!
They call him Ryu he's sick
And he's spittin' fire and Mike
Got him out the dryer he's hot
Found him in Fort Minor with Tak
What a fuckin' nihilist 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
He's not your everyday on the block
He knows how to work with what he's got
Makin his way to the top
He often gets a comment on his 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 (juice)
Him and his crew are known around as one of the best
Dedicated to what they do n 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 the 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!
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!
Yeah! Fort Minor!
M. Shinoda, Styles of Beyond!
Ryu, Takbir!
Machine Shop!