10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 15% percent pain, and a 100% reason to remember the name
I am not really a rap person but I like this one...
Artist: Fort Minor Song: Remember The Name
Lyrics:
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!
[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!
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?!
[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!
[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!
[Outro - Mike Shinoda] Yeah! Fort Minor M. Shinoda - Styles of Beyond Ryu! Takbir! Machine Shop!
Her hair is long and strait, and dark like expensive coffee. With unblemished white, so white skin and round startling dark eyes her face is a frame from a black and white movie, from a great black and white movie, a masterpiece. It is too perfect an image, a constructed thing, a magic thing. It is like a moment captured from the now and digitally retouched to be placed back in real time frame by frame only when it is perfect. Her nostrils flare as she inhales long, slow, deep breaths.
I am spellbound; I can not blink lest I miss a moment.
Every movement is carefully choreographed, carefully scripted. It must be. Her weight changes from back foot to front foot; her orientation begins to change; she blinks once, slowly; she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, discretely; her back foot lifts, she begins the turn; her head first, her long hair dancing behind and then her body completing the turn. Simple, elegant, an economy of movement, a dancers poise.
I am in love, I love her. I love her. I love her.
She faces me her lips part. I am still enraptured; I stand captivated straining to hear. I glimpse for a moment her pink tongue framed between full round lips washed with a pale brown. Her full attention is centered on me. Her eyes are locked with mine. My palms are damp with sweat, I shiver in anticipation.
Her voice, "Thank you sir; two rows down, the window seat on your right".
